Virtue is the fount whence honour springs.
Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
It lies not in our power to love or hate, for will in us is overruled by fate.
You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute, And now and then stab, as occasion serves.
He that loves pleasure must for pleasure fall.
I'm armed with more than complete steel, - The justice of my quarrel.