Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.

O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.

Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous: I nursed her daughter, that you talk’d withal; I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks.

Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe’s debt.