Ambition, The Soldier's Virtue, Rather Makes Choice

Faith, Stay Here This Night; They Will Surely Do Us No Harm; You Saw They Speak Us Fair, Give Us Gold; Methinks They Are Such A Gentle Nation That, But For The Mountain Of Mad Flesh That Claims Marriage Of Me, Could Find In My Heart To Stay Here Still And Turn Witch.

Vice Repeated Is Like The Wandering Wind, Blows Dust In Others' Eyes To Spread Itself.

Tis Beauty Truly Blent, Whose Red And White Nature's Own Sweet And Cunning Hand Laid On.

Tis Gold Which Buys Admittance--oft It Doth--yea, And Makes Diana's Rangers False Themselves, Yield Up This Deer To Th' Stand O' Th' Stealer: And 'tis Gold Which Makes The True Man Kill'd And Saves The Thief, Nay, Sometimes Hangs Both Thief And True Man.

And Some That Smile Have In Their Hearts, I Fear, Millions Of Mischiefs.