I mean not to run with the Hare and holde with the Hounde

None is happy but a glutton.

What bird so sings, yet so does wail? Oh, 'tis the ravished nightingale. "Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu," she cries, And still her woes at midnight rise.

: Were women never to fair, men would be false. : Were women never so false, men would be fond.

O! for a bowl of fat Canary, Rich Palermo, sparkling Sherry.

For wenches, wine, and lusty cheer, Jove would leap down to surfeit here.

Be valyaunt, but not too venturous. Let thy attyre bee comely, but not costly.