I Am A Kind Of Burr; I

Welcome Ever Smiles, And Farewell Goes Out Sighing.

O, Train Me Not, Sweet Mermaid, With Thy Note, To Drown Me In Thy Sister’s Flood Of Tears.

How Hard It Is To Hide The Sparks Of Nature!

What, My Dear Lady Disdain! Are You Yet Living? Beatrice: Is It Possible Disdain Should Die While She Hath Such Meet Food To Feed It As Signior Benedick?

Better A Little Chiding Than A Great Deal Of Heartbreak.