'tis Best To Weigh The Enemy More

Earth-treading Stars That Make Dark Heaven Light

Come What Sorrow Can, It Cannot Countervail The Exchange Of Joy, That One Short Minute Gives Me In Her Sight

What Hands Are Here? Ha! They Pluck Out Mine Eyes! Will All Great Neptune’s Ocean Wash This Blood Clean From My Hand? No; This My Hand Will Rather The Multitudinous Seas Incarnadine, Making The Green One Red.” “my Hands Are Of Your Colour; But I Shame To Wear A Heart So White. A Little Water Clears Us Of This Deed: How Easy It Is Then! Your Constancy Hath Left You Unattended.

Tis Better Using France Than Trusting France; Let Us Be Back'd With God, And With The Seas, Which He Hath Given For Fence Impregnable, And With Their Helps Only Defend Ourselves; In Them, And In Ourselves, Our Safety Lies.

O, Swear Not By The Moon, The Fickle Moon, The Inconstant Moon, That Monthly Changes In Her Circle Orb, Lest That Thy Love Prove Likewise Variable