'tis Better To Bear The Ills We

I Am Not Mad; I Would To Heaven I Were! For Then, 'tis Like I Should Forget Myself; O, If I Could, What Grief Should I Forget!

This Sleep Is Sound Indeed; This Is A Sleep That From This Golden Rigol Hath Divorc'd So Many English Kings.

Have More Than You Show, Speak Less Than You Know.

The Liquid Drops Of Tears That You Have Shed Shall Come Again, Transform'd To Orient Pearl, Advantaging Their Loan With Interest Of Ten Times Double Gain Of Happiness.

Happy Thou Art Not; For What Thou Hast Not, Still Thou Strivest To Get; And What Thou Hast, Forgettest.