O Excellent! I Love Long Life Better

...an Old Man Is Twice A Child.

So Doth The Greater Glory Dim The Less: A Substitute Shines Brightly As A King Until A King Be By.

But, Indeed, Words Are Very Rascals, Since Bonds [vows] Disgraced Them." Viola: "thy Reason, Man?" Feste: "troth [truthfully], Sir, I Can Yield You None Without Words, And Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loathe To Prove Reason With Them.

I Do Know When The Blood Burns, How Prodigal The Soul Lends The Tongue Vows.

Thy Tongue Makes Welsh As Sweet As Ditties Highly Penn'd, Sung By A Fair Queen In A Summer's Bower, With Ravishing Division, To Her Lute.