He's Loved Of The Distracted Multitude, Who

Full Of Wise Saws And Modern Instances.

Come, Gentlemen, I Hope We Shall Drink Down All Unkindness.

Direct Not Him Whose Way Himself Will Choose; 'tis Breath Not Lack'st, And That Breath Wilt Thou Lose.

Oh, Thou Did'st Then Ne'er Love So Heartily. If Thou Rememb'rest Not The Slightest Folly That Ever Love Did Make Thee Run Inot, Thou Has Not Loved. Of If Thou Has't Not Sat As I Do Now, Wearying They Hearer In Thy Mistress's Praise, Thou Has Not Loved. Of If Thou Hast Not Broke From Company Abruptly, As My Passion Now Makes Me, Thou Has Not Loved. (silvius)

Silence Is The Perfectest Herault Of Joy. I Were But Little Happy If I Could Say How Much.