I, Thus Neglecting Worldly Ends, All Dedicated

Aand In The End, Having My Freedom, Boast Of Nothing Else But That I Was A Journeyman To Grief?

Let Me Twine Mine Arms About That Body, Where Against My Grained Ash An Hundred Times Hath Broke And Scarr'd The Moon With Splinters: Here I Clip The Anvil Of My Sword, And Do Contest As Hotly And As Nobly With Thy Love As Ever In Ambitious Strength I Did Contend Against Thy Valour. Know Thou First, I Loved The Maid I Married; Never Man Sigh'd Truer Breath; But That I See Thee Here, Thou Noble Thing! More Dances My Rapt Heart Than When I First My Wedded Mistress Saw Bestride My Threshold.

How Many Things By Season Seasoned Are To Their Right Praise And True Perfection!

Listen To Many, Speak To A Few.

What Can Be Avoided Whose End Is Purposed By The Mighty Gods?