O, She's Warm! If This Be Magic,

O Sir, You Are Old; Nature In You Stands On The Very Verge Of Her Confine; You Should Be Ruled And Led By Some Discretion, That Discerns Your Fate Better Than You Yourself.

But Till All Graces Be In One Woman, One Woman Shall Not Come In My Grace. Rich She Shall Be, That's Certain; Wise, Or I'll None; Virtuous, Or I'll Never Cheapen Her; Fair, Or I'll Never Look On Her; Mild, Or Come Not Near Me; Noble, Or Not I For An Angel; Of Good Discourse, And Excellent Musician And Her Hair Shall Be Of What Colour It Shall Please God.

Think'st Thou It Honourable For A Noble Man Still To Remember Wrongs?

I’ll Look To Like, If Looking Liking Move; But No More Deep Will I Endart Mine Eye Than Your Consent Gives Strength To Make It Fly.

Not Stepping Over The Bounds Of Modesty.