Methinks Sometimes I Have No More Wit

I Must Be Gone And Live, Or Stay And Die.

I Am Too Old To Fawn Upon A Nurse, Too Far In Years To Be A Pupil Now.

If I May Trust The Flattering Truth Of Sleep, My Dreams Presage Some Joyful News At Hand. My Bosom's Lord Sits Lightly In His Throne, And All This Day An Unaccustomed Spirit Lifts Me Above The Ground With Cheerful Thoughts.

Passion Makes The Will Lord Of The Reason.

Affliction Is Enamoured Of Thy Parts, And Thou Art Wedded To Calamity.