Good Wombs Have Borne Bad Sons." --

The Seeming Truth Which Cunning Times Put On To Entrap The Wisest.

O Sleep! O Gentle Sleep! Nature's Soft Nurse, How Have I Frighted Thee, That Thou No More Wilt Weigh My Eyelids Down And Steep My Senses In Forgetfulness? Why Rather, Sleep, Liest Thou In Smoky Cribs, Upon Uneasy Pallets Stretching Thee, And Hush'd With Buzzing Night-flies To Thy Slumber, Than In The Perfum'd Chambers Of The Great, Under The Canopies Of Costly State, And Lull'd With Sound Of Sweetest Melody?

Bid Me Discourse, I Will Enchant Thine Ear

I Have Very Poor And Unhappy Brains For Drinking: I Could Well Wish Courtesy Would Invent Some Other Custom Of Entertainment.

Fair Thoughts And Happy Hours Attend On You.