Knit Your Hearts With An Unslipping Knot.

The King Hath Note Of All That They Intend, By Interception Which They Dream Not Of.

And Therefore Is Love Said To Be A Child, Because In Choice He Is So Oft Beguil'd

Where Art Thou, Muse, That Thou Forget'st So Long / To Speak Of That Which Gives Thee All Thy Might?

The Language I Have Learnt These Forty Years, My Native English, Now I Must Forgo; And Now My Tongue's Use Is To Me No More Than An Unstringed Viol Or A Harp, Or Like A Cunning Instrument Cased Up Or, Being Open, Put Into His Hands That Knows No Touch To Tune The Harmony.

Pause Awhile, And Let My Counsel Sway You.