Alas, Their Love May Be Call'd Appetite.

I Bear A Charmed Life, Which Must Not Yield To One Of Woman Born.

Thus Have I, Wall, My Part Discharged So; And, Being Done, Thus Wall Away Doth Go.

What Is Honour? A Word. What Is In That Word Honour? What Is That Honour? Air. A Trim Reckoning! Who Hath It? He That Died O' Wednesday. Doth He Feel It? No. Doth He Hear It? No.

Some Cupid Kills With Arrows, Some With Traps.

Let Me Be Ignorant, And In Nothing Good, But Graciously To Know I Am No Better.