They say miracles are past.

O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess!

Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge, That no king can corrupt.

Nothing 'gainst Times scythe can make defence.

Wolves and bears, they say, casting their savagery aside, have done like offices of pity.

A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.

Therefore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear. My comfort is that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face. Thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst, and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better.