A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.
O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple Hell?
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
Bell, book and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on.
You peasant swain! You whoreson malt-horse drudge!
You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves praised.