Some Smack Of Age In You, Some

But 'tis Common Proof, That Lowliness Is Young Ambition's Ladder, Whereto The Climber-upward Turns His Face; But When He Once Attains The Upmost Round, He Then Turns His Back, Looks In The Clouds, Scorning The Vase Defrees By Which He Did Ascend.

So May The Outward Shows Be Least Themselves; The World Is Still Deceived With Ornament.

Yet But Three Come One More. Two Of Both Kinds Make Up Four. Ere She Comes Curst And Sad. Cupid Is A Knavish Lad. Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.

Take Heed, Dear Heart, Of This Large Privilege; The Hardest Knife Ill-used Doth Lose His Edge.

Now I Will Believe That There Are Unicorns.