There's No More Faith In Thee Than

When My Love Swears That She Is Made Of Truth, I Do Believe Her, Though I Know She Lies.

Say She Rail; Why, I'll Tell Her Plain She Sings As Sweetly As A Nightingale. Say That She Frown; I'll Say She Looks As Clear As Morning Roses Newly Wash'd With Dew. Say She Be Mute And Will Not Speak A Word; Then I'll Commend Her Volubility, And Say She Uttereth Piercing Eloquence.

I Should Think This A Gull, But That The White-bearded Fellow Speaks It; Knavery Cannot, Sure, Hide Himself In Such Reverence.

Out, You Tallow-face! You Baggage!

If You Have Tears, Prepare To Shed Them Now.