The Dullness Of The Fool Is The

Leave Us To Our Free Election.

Marry, Sir, They Praise Me And Make An Ass Of Me. Now My Foes Tell Me Plainly I Am An Ass; So That By My Foes, Sir, I Profit In The Knowledge Of Myself, Any By My Friends I Am Abused; So That, Conclusions To Be As Kisses, If Your Four Negatives Make Your Two Affirmatives, Why Then, The Worse For My Friends, And The Better For My Foes.

Poor And Content, Is Rich And Rich Enough; But Riches, Fineless, Is As Poor As Winter, To Him That Ever Fears He Shall Be Poor.

Weep Not, Sweet Queen, For Trickling Tears Are Vain.

The Sense Of Death Is Most In Apprehension.