Fortune Reigns In Gifts Of The World.

Jesters Do Oft Prove Prophets.

Oh, I Am Fortune's Fool!

O That My Tongue Were In The Thunder's Mouth! Then With Passion Would I Shake The World, And Rouse From Sleep That Fell Anatomy Which Cannot Hear A Lady's Feeble Voice, Which Scorns A Modern Invocation.

Good Lord, For Alliance! Thus Goes Every One To The World But I, And I Am Sunburnt; I May Sit In A Corner And Cry Heigh-ho For A Husband!

Behold The Threaden Sails, Borne With The Invisible And Creeping Wind, Draw The Huge Bottoms Through The Furrow'd Sea, Breasting The Lofty Surge