Hang There Like Fruit, My Soul, Till

But I, That Am Not Shaped For Sportive Tricks, Nor Made To Court An Amorous Looking-glass; I, That Am Rudely Stamped, And Want Love's Majesty To Strut Before A Wanton Ambling Nymph.

You Speak An Infinite Deal Of Nothing.

A Lean Cheek; Which You Have Not: A Blue Eye, And Sunken; Which You Have Not: An Unquestionable Spirit; Which You Have Not: A Beard Neglected; Which You Have Not: — But I Pardon You For That; For, Simply, Your Having1 In Beard Is A Younger Brother's Revenue: — Then Your Hose Should Be Ungarter'd, Your Bonnet Unhanded, Your Sleeve Unbuttoned, Your Shoe Untied, And Every Thing About You Demonstrating A Careless Desolation.

Away! Thou'rt Poison To My Blood.

Well, I'll Repent, And That Suddenly, While I Am In Some Liking; I Shall Be Out Of Heart Shortly, And Then I Shall Have No Strength To Repent.