Men's Vows Are Women's Traitors

I Durst Not Laugh For Fear Of Opening My Lips And Receiving The Bad Air.

What's The News? None, My Lord, But That The World's Grown Honest, Then Is Doomsday Near.

I Scorn You, Scurvy Companion.

So May I, Blind Fortune Leading Me, Miss That Which One Unworthier May Attain, And Die With Grieving.

The Pleasing Punishment That Women Bear.