Ten Masts Make Not The Altitude Which

Give Me Mine Angle, We'll To Th' River: There, My Music Playing Far Off, I Will Betray Tawny-finned Fishes. My Bended Hook Shall Pierce Their Slimy Jaws; And As I Draw Them Up, I'll Think Them Every One An Antony, And Say, 'ah, Ha! Are Caught!'

Let Men Say We Be Men Of Good Government, Being Governed, As The Sea Is, By Our Noble And Chaste Mistress The Moon, Under Whose Countenance We Steal.

Who Is So Firm That Can't Be Seduced?

Wisely, And Slow. They Stumble That Run Fast.

Now, By The World, It Is A Lusty Wench; I Love Her Ten Times More Than E'er I Did: O, How I Long To Have Some Chat With Her!