These Flowers Are Like The Pleasures Of

Oh, That Way Madness Lies; Let Me Shun That.

Rumor Is A Pipe Blown By Surmises, Jealousies, Conjectures.

Fie, Fie, How Frantically I Square My Talk!

Full Many A Lady I Have Eyed With Best Regard, And Many A Time Th' Harmony Of Their Tongues Hath Into Bondage Brought My Too Diligent Ear; For Several Virtues Have I Liked Several Women; Never Any With So Full Soul But Some Defect In Her Did Quarrel With The Noblest Grace She Owed, And Put It To The Foil.

A Good Old Man, Sir. He Will Be Talking. As They Say, When The Age Is In, The Wit Is Out.