The Sweetest Honey Is Loathsome In His

After Your Death You Were Better Have A Bad Epitaph Than Their Ill Report While You Live.

Be Merry, And Employ Your Chiefest Thoughts To Courtship And Such Fair Ostents Of Love As Shall Conveniently Become You There.

To This Urn Let Those Repair That Are Either True Or Fair; For These Dead Birds Sigh A Prayer.

And Where Two Raging Fires Meet Together, They Do Consume The Thing That Feeds Their Fury.

King Henry: But What A Point, My Lord, Your Falcon Made, And What A Pitch She Flew Above The Rest! To See How God In All His Creatures Works! Yea, Man And Birds Are Fain Of Climbing High. Suffolk: No Marvel, An It Like Your Majesty, My Lord Protectors Hawks Do Tower So Well; They Know Their Masters Loves To Be Aloft, And Bears His Thoughts Above His Falcon's Pitch. Gloucester: My Lord, 'tis But A Base Ignoble Mind That Mounts No Higher Than A Bird Can Soar.