There Was A Star Danced, And Under

She Says I Am Not Fair, That I Lack Manners; She Calls Me Proud, And That She Could Not Love Me, Were Man As Rare As Phoenix.

Shall I Not Take Mine Ease In Mine Inn But I Shall Have My Pocket Picked?

Say She Rail; Why, I'll Tell Her Plain She Sings As Sweetly As A Nightingale. Say That She Frown; I'll Say She Looks As Clear As Morning Roses Newly Wash'd With Dew. Say She Be Mute And Will Not Speak A Word; Then I'll Commend Her Volubility, And Say She Uttereth Piercing Eloquence.

The Error Of Our Eye Directs Our Mind. What Error Leads Must Err.

Madness In Great Ones Must Not Unwatched Go.