O Me, You Juggler, You Canker-blossom, You

Well, I'll Repent, And That Suddenly, While I Am In Some Liking; I Shall Be Out Of Heart Shortly, And Then I Shall Have No Strength To Repent.

Then Know, That I Have Little Wealth To Lose. A Man I Am, Crossed With Adversity; My Riches Are These Poor Habiliments, Of Which If You Should Here Disfurnish Me, You Take The Sum And Substance That I Have.

To You Your Father Should Be As A God; One That Composed Your Beauties, Yea, And One To Whom You Are But As A Form In Wax, By Him Imprinted, And Within His Power To Leave The Figure Or Disfigure It.

I Do Not Hate A Proud Man, As I Do Hate The Engendering Of Toads.

I Wonder Men Dare Trust Themselves With Men.