Join Not With Grief, Fair Woman, Do

Faint Heart Never Won Fair Maid.

Have You Not A Moist Eye, A Dry Hand, A Yellow Cheek, A White Beard, A Decreasing Leg, An Increasing Belly? Is Not Your Voice Broken, Your Wind Short, Your Chin Double, Your Wit Single, And Every Part About You Blasted With Antiquity?

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.

Fortune Brings In Some Boats That Are Not Steered.

And Therefore, — Since I Cannot Prove A Lover, To Entertain These Fair Well-spoken Days, — I Am Determined To Prove A Villain, And Hate The Idle Pleasures Of These Days.