Ah fair Zenocrate, divine Zenocrate, Fair is too foul an epithet for thee.
Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.
O, thou art fairer than the evening air clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.
Strike up the drum and march courageously.
Fools that will laugh on earth, most weep in hell.
All places are alike, and every earth is fit for burial.