O Braggart Vile And Damned Furious Wight!

Now Get You To My Lady's Chamber, And Tell Her, Let Her Paint An Inch Thick, To This Favour She Must Come; Make Her Laugh At That.

Look, What Envious Streaks Do Lace The Severing Clouds In Yonder East! Night's Candles Are Burnt Out, And Jocund Day Stands Tip-toe On The Misty Mountain-tops.

. . From This Moment The Very Firstlings Of My Heart Shall Be The Firstlings Of My Hand. And Even Now, To Crown My Thoughts With Acts, Be It Thought And Done.

For 'tis The Sport To Have The Engineer Hoist With His Own Petar; And't Shall Go Hard But I Will Delve One Yard Below Their Mines And Blow Them At The Moon.

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind, Thou Art Not So Unkind As Mans Ingratitude Thy Tooth Is Not So Keen, Because Thou Art Not Seen, Although Thy Breath Be Rude. Heigh-ho Sing, Heigh-ho Unto The Green Holly Most Friendship Is Feigning, Most Loving Mere Folly. Then Heigh-ho The Holly This Life Is Most Jolly. Freeze, Freeze, Thou Bitter Sky, That Dost Not Bite So Nigh As Benefits Forgot Though Thou The Waters Warp, Thy Sting Is Not So Sharp As Friend Rememberd Not.