You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty!

Send danger from the east unto the west, so honor cross it from the north to south.

For my own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.

Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep.

Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit.

Like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks.