Care Is No Cure, But Rather Corrosive,

A Whoreson Jackanapes Must Take Me Up For Swearing; As If I Borrowed Mine Oaths Of Him And Might Not Spend Them At My Pleasure. When A Gentleman Is Disposed To Swear, It Is Not For Any Standers-by To Curtail His Oaths, Ha?

Grim-visaged War Hath Smoothed His Wrinkled Front; And Now, Instead Of Mounting Barbed Steeds To Fright The Souls Of Fearful Adversaries, He Capers Nimbly In A Lady's Chamber To The Lascivious Pleasing Of A Lute.

Death, Not Romeo, Take My Maidenhead!

Then Will I Raise Aloft The Milk-white Rose. For Whose Sweet Smell The Air Shall Be Perfumed.

Ah Me, How Weak A Thing The Heart Of Woman Is!