He's Mad That Trusts In

You Know That I Do Fawn On Men, And Hug Them Hard, And After Scandal Them.

But I Will Wear My Heart Upon My Sleeve For Daws To Peck At: I Am Not What I Am.

Who Are The Violets Now That Strew The Lap Of The New-come Spring?

Fools Are As Like Husbands As Pilchards Are To Herrings, The Husband's The Bigger.

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.