Too Much To Know Is To Know

What Thing, In Honor, Had My Father Lost, That Need To Be Revived And Breathed In Me?

How Many Cowards Whose Hearts Are All As False As Stairs Of Sand, Wear Yet Upon Their Chins The Beards Of Hercules And Frowning Mars, Who Inward Searched, Have Livers White As Milk!

Things Are Often Spoke And Seldom Meant.

Out Of Her Favour, Where I Am In Love.

Give Me A Bowl Of Wine, In This I Bury All Unkindness.