Pule and do penance for their mistress' faults.
I'm none of those poetic malcontents
Born to make paper dear with my laments:
Or wild Orlando that will rail and vex,
60And for thy sake fall out with all the sex.
No, I will love again, and seek a prize
That shall redeem me from thy poor despise.
I'll court my fortune now in such a shape
That will no faint dye, nor starv'd colour take.
Thus launch I off with triumph from thy shore,