My Wits Begin To Turn.

What Freezings I Have Felt, What Dark Days Seen, What Old December's Bareness Everywhere!

My Heart Is Turned To Stone; I Strike It, And It Hurts My Hand.

If One Good Deed In All My Life I Did, I Do Repent It From My Very Soul.

Well, If Fortune Be A Woman, She's A Good Wench For This Gear.

A Man Can Die But Once.