Of Chastity, The Ornaments Are Chaste.

By Innocence I Swear, And By My Youth, I Have One Heart, One Bosom, And One Truth, And That No Woman Has, Nor Never None Shall Mistress Be Of It Save I Alone.

I Had Rather Be A Kitten, And Cry Mew, Than One Of These Same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I Had Rather Heare A Brazen Candlestick Turn'd, Or A Dry Wheele Grate On The Axle-tree, And That Would Set My Teeth Nothing An Edge, Nothing So Much, As Mincing Poetrie.

The Bitter Clamor Of Two Eager Tongues.

Here Comes A Pair Of Very Strange Beasts, Which In All Tongues Are Called Fools.

Virtue Itself Turns Vice, Being Misapplied, And Vice Sometime By Action Dignified.