Fight Thou With Shafts Of

Welcome, Maids Of Honor, You Doe Bring In The Spring, And Wait Upon Her.

The First Act's Doubtful, But We Say, It Is The Last Commends The Play.

Lord, 'tis Thy Plenty-dropping Hand That Soils My Land, And Giv'st Me For My Bushel Sowne Twice Ten For One. All This, And Better, Thou Dost Send Me, To This End, That I Should Render, For My Part, A Thankful Heart.

Necessity Makes Dastards Valiant Men.

For Pitty, Sir, Find Out That Bee Which Bore My Love Away I'le Seek Him In Your Bonnet Brave, I'le Seek Him In Your Eyes.