Religious Canons, Civil Laws, Are

Covering Discretion With A Coat Of Folly.

We That Are True Lovers Run Into Strange Capers; But As All Is Mortal In Nature, So Is All Nature In Love Mortal In Folly.

Be Not Afeard; The Isle Is Full Of Noises, Sounds, And Sweet Airs, That Give Delight And Hurt Not. Sometimes A Thousand Twangling Instruments Will Hum About Mine Ears; And Sometime Voices, That, If I Then Had Waked After Long Sleep, Will Make Me Sleep Again: And Then, In Dreaming, The Clouds Methought Would Open, And Show Riches Ready To Drop Upon Me; That, When I Waked, I Cried To Dream Again.

Tush! Fear Not, My Lord, We Will Not Stand To Prate; Talkers Are No Good Doers: Be Assured We Come To Use Our Hands And Not Our Tongues.

For They Are Yet Ear-kissing Arguments.