John Marston

Sing of the nature of women, and then the song shall be surely full of variety; old crotchets and most sweet closes. It shall be humorous, grave, fantastic, amorous, melancholy, sprightly, one in all, and all in one.

For see, the dapple-grey coursers of the morn Beat up the light with their bright silver hoofs, And chase it through the sky.

Who winks and shuts his apprehension up.

Foul canker of fair virtuous action, Vile blaster of the freshest blooms on earth, Envys abhorrèd child, Detraction, I here expose, to thy all-tainting breath, The issue of my brain: snarl, rail, bark, bite, Know that my spirit scorns …