I am not a slut, though I thank the Gods I am foul.

A woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
Yet Grace must still look so.

So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

Nothing can seem foul to those that win

I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had left him before he transgressed.