For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.

So curses all Eve's daughters of what complexion soever.

Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.

You Jig, you amble, and you lisp.

Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.

Refrain to-night; And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence, the next more easy; For use almost can change the stamp of nature, And either master the devil or throw him out With wondrous potency.

Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. O these deliberate fools!