'Twas merry when You wagered on your angling, when your diver Did hang a salt fish on his hook, which he With fervency drew up.

I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; not the soldier's which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

For grief is crowned with consolation.

Love will not be spurred to what it loathes

All dark and comfortless.

Full of wise saws and modern instances.

To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy.