Thou Art Sad; Get Thee A Wife,

Short Summers Lightly Have A Forward Spring.

The Play's The Thing, Wherein I'll Catch The Conscience Of The King.

Up And Down, Up And Down I Will Lead Them Up And Down I Am Feared In Field In Town Goblin, Lead Them Up And Down

The Sands Are Number'd That Make Up My Life; Here Must I Stay, And Here My Life Must End.

Even So; An't Please Your Worship, Brakenbury, You May Partake Of Any Thing We Say: We Speak No Treason, Man; We Say The King Is Wise And Virtuous, And His Noble Queen Well Struck In Years, Fair, And Not Jealous; We Say That Shore's Wife Hath A Pretty Foot, A Cherry Lip, A Bonny Eye, A Passing Pleasing Tongue; And That The Queen's Kindred Are Made Gentlefolks.