So Wise So Young, They Say, Do

And The More Pity That Great Folk Should Have Count'nance In This World To Drown Or Hang Themselves More Than Their Even-christen.

True, I Talk Of Dreams, Which Are The Children Of An Idle Brain, Begot Of Nothing But Vain Fantasy.

Affection Faints Not Like A Pale-faced Coward, But Then Woos Best When Most His Choice Is Froward.

I Will Through And Through Cleanse The Foul Body Of Th' Infected World, If They Will Patiently Receive My Medicine.

Prepare For Mirth, For Mirth Becomes A Feast.