Death, That Hath Suck'd The Honey Of

Be Not Too Tame Neither, But Let Your Own Discretion Be Your Tutor; Suit The Action To The Word, The Word To The Action.

Well, If Fortune Be A Woman, She's A Good Wench For This Gear.

Here Feel We But The Penalty Of Adam, The Seasons' Difference, As The Icy Fang And Churlish Chiding Of The Winter's Wind, Which, When It Bites And Blows Upon My Body, Even Till I Shrink With Cold, I Smile.

And The More Pity That Great Folk Should Have Count'nance In This World To Drown Or Hang Themselves More Than Their Even-christen.

Though I Look Old, Yet I Am Strong And Lusty; For In My Youth I Never Did Apply Hot And Rebellious Liquors In My Blood; And Did Not, With Unbashful Forehead, Woo The Means Of Weakness And Debility: Therefore My Age Is As A Lusty Winter, Frosty But Kindly.