You Peasant Swain! You Whoreson Malt-horse Drudge!

Would I Were In An Alehouse In London.

For Oaths Are Straws, Men's Faiths Are Wafer-cakes, And Hold-fast Is The Only Dog.

One Pain Is Cured By Another. Catch Some New Infection In Your Eye And The Poison Of The Old One Would Die.

Things Sweet To Taste Prove In Digestion Sour.

Cry Havoc And Let Slip The Dogs Of War!