Thou Art Sad; Get Thee A Wife,

A Wicked Conscience Mouldeth Goblins Swift As Frenzy Thoughts.

Men Prize The Thing Ungained More Than It Is.

My Love's More Richer Than My Tongue.

His Words Are Bonds, His Oaths Are Oracles; His Love Sincere, His Thoughts Immaculate; His Tears Pure Messengers Sent From His Heart; His Heart As Far From Fraud, As Heaven From Earth

Your Lordship, Though Not Clean Past Your Youth, Have Yet Some Smack Of Age In You, Some Relish Of The Saltiness Of Time.