At Christmas, I No More

My Hands Are Of Your Color, But I Shame To Wear A Heart So White.

Now The Melancholy Of God Protect Thee, And The Tailor Make Thy Doublet Of Changable Taffata, For Thy Mind Is A Very Opal. I Would Have Men Of Such Constancy Put To Sea, That Their Business Might Be Everything, And Their Intent Everywhere, For That's It, That Always Makes A Good Voyage Of Nothing.

For Sweetest Things Turn Sourest By Their Deeds; Lillies That Fester Smell Far Worse Than Weeds.

But Here's The Joy: My Friend And I Are One, Sweet Flattery!

Out Of This Nettle - Danger - We Pluck This Flower - Safety.