Take it in what sense thou wilt.
Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.
Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?
It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.
How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, And that no woman has, nor never none Shall mistress be of it save I alone.