Virtue's Office Never Breaks Men's Troth.

Thy Wit Is A Very Bitter Sweeting; It Is A Most Sharp Sauce.

Never; He Will Not: Age Cannot Wither Her, Nor Custom Stale Her Infinite Variety: Other Women Cloy The Appetites They Feed: But She Makes Hungry Where Most She Satisfies.

O Me, You Juggler, You Canker-blossom, You Thief Of Love!

Experience Teacheth That Resolution Is A Sole Help In Need.

Yet But Three Come One More. Two Of Both Kinds Make Up Four. Ere She Comes Curst And Sad. Cupid Is A Knavish Lad. Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.