My Wits Begin To Turn.

By A Divine Instinct, Men's Minds Mistrust Ensuing Danger; As, By Proof, We See The Waters Swell Before A Boisterous Storm.

They Met So Near With Their Lips That Their Breaths Embraced Together.

Cease Thy Counsel, For Thy Words Fall Into My Ears As Priceless As Water Into A Seive.

His Jest Will Savour But Of Shallow Wit, When Thousands Weep, More Than Did Laugh At It.

I Am Not Merry, But I Do Beguile The Thing I Am By Seeming Otherwise.