Oh, I Am Fortune's Fool!

I Go, I Go, Look How I Go, Swifter Than An Arrow From A Bow

Or Are You Like The Painting Of A Sorrow, A Face Without A Heart?

Love Adds A Precious Seeing To The Eye.

Who Would Be So Mocked With Glory, Or To Live But In A Dream Of Friendship, To Have His Pomp And All What State Compounds But Only Painted, Like His Varnished Friends?

It Comes To Pass Oft That A Terrible Oath, With A Swaggering Accent Sharply Twanged Off, Gives Manhood More Approbation Than Ever Proof Itself Would Have Earned Him.