An envious feverOf pale and bloodless emulation.

Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.

The moon's an arrant thief,And her pale fire she snatches from the sun.

Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward,But then woos best when most his choice is froward.

Beauty’s ensign yetIs crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,And death’s pale flag is not advanced there.

Over hill, over dale,Thorough bush, thorough brier,Over park, over pale,Thorough flood, thorough fire,I do wander everywhere.