Like Madness, Is The Glory Of This

Conscience Is A Blushing, Shamefaced Spirit Than Mutinies In A Man's Bosom; It Fills One Full Of Obstacles.

How Slow This Old Moon Wanes! She Lingers My Desires, Like To A Stepdame, Or A Dowager, Long Withering Out A Young Man's Revenue.

Lord, I Could Not Endure A Husband With A Beard On His Face! I Had Rather Lie In The Woolen.

With These Shreds They Vented Their Complainings, Which Being Answered And A Petition Granted Them, A Strange One, To Break The Heart Of Generosity, And Make Bold Power Look Pale, They Threw Their Caps As They Would Hang Them On The Horns O' Th' Moon, Shouting Their Emulation.

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind, Thou Art Not So Unkind As Mans Ingratitude Thy Tooth Is Not So Keen, Because Thou Art Not Seen, Although Thy Breath Be Rude. Heigh-ho Sing, Heigh-ho Unto The Green Holly Most Friendship Is Feigning, Most Loving Mere Folly. Then Heigh-ho The Holly This Life Is Most Jolly. Freeze, Freeze, Thou Bitter Sky, That Dost Not Bite So Nigh As Benefits Forgot Though Thou The Waters Warp, Thy Sting Is Not So Sharp As Friend Rememberd Not.