1 But go not to mine uncle's bed.
2 She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed.
3 So would I ha done, by yonder sun, An thou hadst not come to my bed.
4 A second time I kill my husband dead, When second husband kisses me in bed.
5 Fare you well, my liege, I'll call upon you ere you go to bed, And tell you what I know.
6 Nay, but to live In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love Over the nasty sty.
7 But virtue, as it never will be mov'd, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven; So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, Will sate itself in a celestial bed And prey on garbage.
8 Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: Let the bloat King tempt you again to bed, Pinch wanton on your cheek, call you his mouse, And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers, Make you to ravel all this matter out, That I essentially am not in madness, But mad in craft.
9 Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent: When he is drunk asleep; or in his rage, Or in th'incestuous pleasure of his bed, At gaming, swearing; or about some act That has no relish of salvation in't, Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, And that his soul may be as damn'd and black As hell, whereto it goes.