The wheel is come full circle.
Captain of our fairy band, Helena is here at hand, And the youth, mistook by me, Pleading for a lover's fee. Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be!
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
The proverb is something musty.
For mine own part, it was Greek to me.
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!