Wise Men Never Sit And Wail Their

No Reckoning Made, But Sent To My Account With All My Imperfections On My Head.

But Since The Affairs Of Men Rests Still Incertain, Let's Reason With The Worst That May Befall.

But Till All Graces Be In One Woman, One Woman Shall Not Come In My Grace. Rich She Shall Be, That's Certain; Wise, Or I'll None; Virtuous, Or I'll Never Cheapen Her; Fair, Or I'll Never Look On Her; Mild, Or Come Not Near Me; Noble, Or Not I For An Angel; Of Good Discourse, And Excellent Musician And Her Hair Shall Be Of What Colour It Shall Please God.

Join Not With Grief, Fair Woman, Do Not So, To Make My End Too Sudden.

The King Hath Note Of All That They Intend, By Interception Which They Dream Not Of.