Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one.
I am obnoxious to each carping tongue who says my hand a needle better fits.
If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings/Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun/For my mean Pen are too superior things.
Some laborers have hard hands, and old sinners have brawny consciences.
My hope and treasure lies above