Though I am young, I scorn to flit

And I oft have heard defended,— Little said is soonest mended.

And he that gives us in these days New Lords may give us new laws.

Jack shall pipe and Gill shall dance.

Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat, And therefore let ’s be merry.

Shall I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman’s fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care, ’Cause another’s rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May,

I loved a lass, a fair one, As fair as e'er was seen; She was indeed a rare one, Another Sheba queen: But, fool as then I was, I thought she loved me too: