Take You Me For A Sponge?

This England Never Did, Nor Never Shall, Lie At The Proud Foot Of A Conqueror.

What A Pretty Thing Man Is When He Goes In His Doublet And Hose And Leaves Off His Wit!

Say, What Abridgement Have You For This Evening? What Masque, What Music? How Shall We Beguile The Lazy Time If Not With Some Delight?

My Life, My Joy, My Food, My Ail The World!

I Could A Tale Unfold Whose Lightest Word Would Harrow Up Thy Soul, Freeze Thy Young Blood, Make Thy Two Eyes Like Stars Start From Their Spheres, Thy Knotted And Combined Locks To Part, And Each Particular Hair To Stand On End Like Quills Upon The Fretful Porpentine. But This Eternal Blazon Must Not Be To Ears Of Flesh And Blood. List, List, O List!