For This Relief, Much Thanks

Jesters Do Oft Prove Prophets.

If It Be Aught Toward The General Good, Set Honor In One Eye And Death I' Th' Other, And I Will Look On Both Indifferently; For Let The Gods So Speed Me As I Love The Name Of Honor More Than I Fear Death.

Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram; The Marigold, That Goes To Bed Wi' The Sun, And With Him Rise Weeping.

If I Shall Be Condemned Upon Surmises, All Proofs Sleeping Else But What Your Jealousies Awake, I Tell You 'tis Rigor And Not Law.

This Fellow Pecks Up Wit, As Pigeons Peas; And Utters It Again When God Doth Please: He Is Wit's Pedler; And Retails His Wares.