Lady, With Me, With Me

The Amity That Wisdom Knits Not, Folly May Easily Untie.

Pain Pays The Income Of Each Precious Thing.

...too Much Sadness Hath Congealed Your Blood,and Melancholy Is The Nurse Of Frenzy.

Tis Not A Year Or Two Shows Us A Man: They Are All But Stomachs, And We All But Food; They Eat Us Hungerly, And When They Are Full They Belch Us.

Gentle And Low, An Excellent Thing In Woman.