Sir To. Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i the mouth too.
Let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husbands heart: For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than womens are.
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun And the free maids that weave their thread with bones Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.