I Could Wish You All Who Love, That Ye Could Your Thoughts Remove From Your Mistresses, And Be Wisely Wanton, Like To Me, I Could Wish You Dispossessed Of That Fiend That Mars Your Rest, And With Tapers Comes To Fright Your Weak Senses In The Night. I Could Wish Ye All Who Fry Cold As Ice, Or Cool As I; But If Flames Best Like Ye, Then, Much Good Do 'T Ye, Gentlemen. I A Merry Heart Will Keep, While You Wring Your Hands And Weep.