For He Was Likely, Had He Been

Fie, Thou Dishonest Satan! I Call Thee By The Most Modest Terms; For I Am One Of Those Gentle Ones That Will Use The Devil Himself With Courtesy: Sayest Thou That House Is Dark?

Die For Adultery! No: The Wren Goes To't, And The Small Gilded Fly Does Lecher In My Sight

Or Are You Like The Painting Of A Sorrow, A Face Without A Heart?

The Tartness Of His Face Sours Ripe Grapes.

I Was A Coward On Instinct.