Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.

Pride went before, ambition follows him.

For they are yet ear-kissing arguments.

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with light weight of pain, As much or more we should ourselves complain.

Get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee.

With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out

With these shreds They vented their complainings, which being answered And a petition granted them, a strange one, To break the heart of generosity, And make bold power look pale, they threw their caps As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon, Shouting their emulation.