If It Will Feed Nothing Else, It

You Cannot Make Gross Sins Look Clear: To Revenge Is No Valour, But To Bear.

Now Get You To My Lady's Chamber, And Tell Her, Let Her Paint An Inch Thick, To This Favour She Must Come; Make Her Laugh At That.

A Nun Of Winter's Sisterhood Kisses Not More Religiously; The Very Ice Of Chastity Is In Them.

Would I Were Dead, If God's Good Will Were So, For What Is In This World But Grief And Woe?

I Would There Were No Age Between Sixteen And Three-and-twenty, Or That Youth Would Sleep Out The Rest; For There Is Nothing In The Between But Getting Wenches With Child, Wronging The Ancientry, Stealing, Fighting