The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.

I will speak daggers to her, but use none.

If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.

I say, without characters, fame lives long.

My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate.

With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.

In sweet music is such art: killing care and grief of heart fall asleep, or hearing, die.