Would I Were In An Alehouse In

Ambition, The Soldier's Virtue, Rather Makes Choice Of Loss, Than Gain Which Darkens Him.

Jesu, Jesu, The Mad Days That I Have Spent! And To See How Many Of My Old Acquaintance Are Dead!

Not From The Stars Do I My Judgement Pluck, And Yet Methinks I Have Astronomy. But Not To Tell Of Good Or Evil Luck, Of Plagues, Of Dearths, Or Season's Quality; Nor Can I Fortune To Brief Minutes Tell ... Or Say With Princes If It Shall Go Well.

Being Your Slave What Should I Do But Tend, Upon The Hours, And Times Of Your Desire? I Have No Precious Time At All To Spend; Nor Services To Do Till You Require.

When Clouds Are Seen Wise Men Put On Their Cloaks; When Great Leaves Fall Then Winter Is At Hand.