I Cannot Tell What The Dickens His

You Kiss By Th' Book.

Do Thou Amend Thy Face, And I'll Amend My Life.

Let Still Woman Take An Elder Than Herself: So Wears She To Him, So Sways She Level In Her Husband's Heart, For, Boy, However We Do Praise Ourselves, Our Fancies Are More Giddy And Unfirm, More Longing, Wavering, Sooner To Be Lost And Warn, Than Women's Are.

Foul Whisp'rings Are Abroad.

Farewell, Fair Cruelty.