Though I Be But Prince Of Wales,

Ay, When Fowls Have No Feathers And Fish Have No Fin.

She Lov'd Me For The Dangers I Had Pass'd, And I Lov'd Her That She Did Pity Them

So Full Of Shapes Is Fancy That It Alone Is High Fantastical.

Ay, But To Die, And Go We Know Not Where.

Away, You Cut-purse Rascal! You Filthy Bung, Away! By This Wine, I'll Thrust My Knife In Your Mouldy Chaps, An You Play The Saucy Cuttle With Me. Away, You Bottle-ale Rascal! You Basket-hilt Stale Juggler, You!