Sycorax Has Grown Into A

Hast Any Philosophy In Thee Shepherd? .• • • • . . . He That Wants Money, Means And Content, Is Without Three Good Friends; That The Property Of Rain Is To Wet And Fire To Burn; That Good Pasture Makes Fat Sheep, And A Great Cause Of The Night Is Lack Of The Sun; That He That Hath Learned No Wit By Nature Nor Art May Complain Of Good Breeding Or Comes Of A Very Dull Kindred.

Lilies That Fester Smell Far Worse Than Weeds.

Affliction May One Day Smile Again; And Till Then, Sit Thee Down, Sorrow!.

The Time Of Life Is Short; To Spend That Shortness Basely Were Too Long.

I Am Declined Into The Vale Of Years.