First Witch He Knows Thy

That Thou Art Blamed Shall Not Be Thy Defect, For Slander's Mark Was Ever Yet The Fair; The Ornament Of Beauty Is Suspect, A Crow That Flies In Heaven's Sweetest Air.

He Is Not Worthy Of The Honey-comb, That Shuns The Hives Because The Bees Have Stings.

The Venom Clamours Of A Jealous Woman Poison More Deadly Than A Mad Dog's Tooth.

His Worst Fault Is, He's Given To Prayer; He Is Something Peevish That Way.

...vaulted With Such Ease Into His Seat, As If An Angel Dropp'd Down From The Clouds, To Turn And Wind A Fiery Pegasus, And Witch The World With Noble Horsemanship.