The Iron Tongue Of Midnight Hath Told

To Some Kind Of Men Their Graces Serve Them But As Enemies.

Swear Me, Kate, Like A Lady As Thou Art, A Good Mouth-filling Oath.

We Must Love Men, Ere To Us They Will Seem Worthy Of Our Love.

Shorten My Days Thou Canst With Sullen Sorrow, And Pluck Nights From Me, But Not Lend A Morrow; Thou Canst Help Time To Furrow Me With Age, But Stop No Wrinkle In His Pilgrimage.

I Had Rather Be A Dog, And Bay The Moon, Than Such A Roman.