How Lush And Lusty The Grass Looks!

As There Comes Light From Heaven And Words From Breath, As There Is Sense In Truth And Truth In Virtue

He's Mad That Trusts In The Tameness Of A Wolf.

One Fire Burns Out Another's Burning, One Pain Is Lessen'd By Another's Anguish.

I Have Neither The Scholar's Melancholy, Which Is Emulation; Nor The Musician's, Which Is Fantastical; Nor The Courtier's, Which Is Proud; Not The Soldier's Which Is Ambitious; Nor The Lawyer's, Which Is Politic; Nor The Lady's, Which Is Nice; Nor The Lover's, Which Is All These: But It Is A Melancholy Of Mine Own, Compounded Of Many Simples, Extracted From Many Objects, And Indeed The Sundry Contemplation Of My Travels, Which, By Often Rumination, Wraps Me In A Most Humorous Sadness.

You Are A Lover. Borrow Cupid's Wings And Soar With Them Above A Common Bound.