Why, There's A Wench! Come On, And

Cursed Be The Hand That Made These Fatal Holes.

O Madam, My Old Heart Is Cracked, It's Cracked!

My Soul Is In The Sky.

To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old, For As You Were When First Your Eye I Eyed, Such Seems Your Beauty Still. Three Winters Cold Have From The Forests Shook Three Summers' Pride, Three Beauteous Springs To Yellow Autumn Turn'd In Process Of The Seasons Have I Seen, Three April Perfumes In Three Hot Junes Burn'd, Since First I Saw You Fresh, Which Yet Are Green.

Those That Are Good Manners At The Court Are As Ridiculous In The Country, As The Behavior Of The Country Is Most Mockable At The Court.