I Am Too Old To Fawn Upon

Most Dear Actors, Eat No Onions Nor Garlic, For We Are To Utter Sweet Breath.

I Have A Soul Of Lead So Stakes Me To The Ground I Cannot Move.

Could Beauty, My Lord, Have Better Commerce Than With Honesty?

Why Didst Thou Promise Such A Beauteous Day And Make Me Travel Forth Without My Cloak, To Let Base Clouds O'ertake Me In My Way, Hiding They Brav'ry In Their Rotten Smoke?

Let Fancy Still In My Sense In Lethe Steep; If It Be Thus To Dream, Still Let Me Sleep!