When Love Begins To Sicken And Decay

Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown, And What Strength I Have's Mine Own, Which Is Most Faint: Now, 'tis True, Or Sent To Naples. Let Me Not, Since I Have My Dukedom Got And Pardon 'd The Deceiver, Dwell In This Bare Island By Your Spell; I Must Be Here Confined By You, But Release Me From My Bands With The Help Of Your Good Hands: Gentle Breath Of Yours My Sails Must Fill, Or Else My Project Fails, Which Was To Please: Now I Want Spirits To Enforce, Art To Enchant, And My Ending Is Despair, Unless I Be Relieved By Prayer, Which Pierces So, That It Assaults Mercy Itself, And Frees All Faults. As You From Crimes Would Pardon'd Be, Let Your Indulgence Set Me Free.

Heaven Take My Soul, And England Keep My Bones!

Tis Beauty That Doth Oft Make Women Proud; But, God He Knows, Thy Share Thereof Is Small.

If She Be Fair And Wise, Fairness And Wit, The One's For Use, The Other Useth It.

Advance Our Standards, Set Upon Our Foes; Our Ancient Word Of Courage, Fair Saint George, Inspire Us With The Spleen Of Fiery Dragons!