What A Deformed Thief This Fashion Is.

He's Loved Of The Distracted Multitude, Who Like Not In Their Judgement, But Their Eyes.

Then Come Kiss Me, Sweet And Twenty.

Such An Act That Blurs The Grace And Blush Of Modesty; Calls Virtue Hypocrite; Takes Off The Rose From The Fair Forehead Of An Innocent Love, And Sets A Blister There; Makes Marriage Vows As False As Dicers' Oaths.

Tut, Man, One Fire Burns Out Another's Burning; One Pain Is Less'ned By Another's Anguish; Turn Giddy, And Be Holp By Backward Turning; One Desperate Grief Cures With Another's Languish.

The Day Shall Not Be Up So Soon As I, To Try The Fair Adventure Of Tomorrow.