What is my charge? What is it that you charge me with? Perhaps, That I dragged the moon, Low with vice and indiscretion— That the moon so beloved this face, She stooped to brighten it, What can be your charge? The men in my bed, Have always known what I was, The greater part of them And twice the valour. Perhap you charge me With forbidden knowledge? If I am a girl, Of ill fame, What of the men, That made me famous? Those that abhor every virtue, But mine— At night, I made you richer, Than all your tribe. Punch-drunk, Cassio, Ass and fool, Nightcomer, Remember this night, The silk of my body, The dark pearls of my eyes, The tides that moved within you. Time will not remember you, Nor your empty hearts, Emptier still than your wallets.