The Prize Of All Too Precious You.

An Honest Tale Speeds Best Being Plainly Told.

True Apothecary Thy Drugs Art Quick

Thus Did I Keep My Person Fresh And New, My Presence, Like A Robe Pontifical, Ne'er Seen But Wondered At, And So My State, Seldom But Sumptuous, Showed Like A Feast.

Our Fancies Are More Giddy And Unfirm, More Longing, Wavering, Sooner Lost And Won, Than Women's Are.

You Blocks, You Stones, You Worse Than Senseless Things!