Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one.

But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.

I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold or all the riches that the East doth hold.

If ever wife was happy in a man, compare with me, ye women if you can.

To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings/Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun/For my mean Pen are too superior things.

The world no longer lets me love, My hope and treasure are above.

I am obnoxious to each carping tongue who says my hand a needle better fits.