So Loving To My Mother, That He

Small Herbs Have Grace, Great Weeds Do Grow Apace.

Set Your Heart At Rest. The Fairyland Buys Not The Child Of Me.

And Too Soon Marred Are Those So Early Made.

Do You Bite Your Thumb At Us, Sir?

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.