Let The Galled Jade Wince; Our Withers

Love Asks Me No Questions, And Gives Me Endless Support.

Is It Not Strange That Desire Should So Many Years Outlive Performance?

That England, That Was Wont To Conquer Others, Hath Made A Shameful Conquest Of Itself.

Foul Fiend Of France And Hag Of All Despite, Encompassed With Thy Lustful Paramours, Becomes It Thee To Taunt His Valiant Age And Twit With Cowardice A Man Half Dead?

Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loath To Prove Reason With Them.