Take It In What Sense Thou Wilt.

The Smallest Worm Will Turn Being Trodden On, And Doves Will Peck In Safeguard Of Their Brood.

Death, As The Psalmist Saith, Is Certain To All, All Shall Die.

Therefore Was I Created With A Stubborn Outside, With An Aspect Of Iron, That When I Come To Woo Ladies, I Fright Them. But, In Faith, Kate, The Elder I Wax, The Better I Shall Appear. My Comfort Is That Old Age, That Ill Layer-up Of Beauty, Can Do No More Spoil Upon My Face. Thou Hast Me, If Thou Hast Me, At The Worst, And Thou Shalt Wear Me, If Thou Wear Me, Better And Better.

Let Those That Play Your Clowns Speak No More Than Is Set Down For Them.

And Gentlemen In England Now-a-bed Shall Think Themselves Accurs'd They Were Not Here, And Hold Their Manhoods Cheap Whiles Any Speaks That Fought With Us Upon Saint Crispin's Day.