We Will All Laugh At Gilded Butterflies.

Come, Woo Me, Woo Me, For Now I Am In A Holiday Humor, And Like Enough To Consent.

Here Is A Rural Fellow That Will Not Be Denied Your Highness' Presence: He Brings You Figs.

A Hundred Thousand Welcomes: I Could Weep, And I Could Laugh; I Am Light And Heavy: Welcome.

Why, All Delights Are Vain, But That Most Vain Which, With Pain Purchased, Doth Inherit Pain: As, Painfully To Pore Upon A Book, To Seek The Light Of Truth, Which Truth The While Doth Falsely Blind The Eyesight Of His Look.

Let Every Eye Negotiate For Itself And Trust No Agent.