Get Thee A Good Husband, And Use

So Weary With Disasters, Tugg'd With Fortune, That I Would Set My Life On Any Chance, To Mend, Or Be Rid On't.

No Doubt They Rose Up Early To Observe The Rite Of May; And, Hearing Our Intent, Came Here In Grace Of Our Solemnity.

One Whom The Music Of His Own Vain Tongue Doth Ravish Like Enchanting Harmony.

Not From The Stars Do I My Judgement Pluck, And Yet Methinks I Have Astronomy. But Not To Tell Of Good Or Evil Luck, Of Plagues, Of Dearths, Or Season's Quality; Nor Can I Fortune To Brief Minutes Tell ... Or Say With Princes If It Shall Go Well.

I Told You, Sir, They Were Red-hot With Drinking; So Full Of Valor That They Smote The Air, For Breathing In Their Faces, Beat The Ground For Kissing Of Their Feet.