Zounds! sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bid you.

Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I; every man to his business.

Make the upcoming hour overflow with joy, and let pleasure drown the brim.

I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo to in festival terms.

I'll have no husband, if you be not he.

Music, moody food Of us that trade in love.

For this relief, much thanks