That thou remember them, some claim as debt; I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.

Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.

So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.

Women are like the arts, forced unto none, Open to all searchers, unprized, if unknown.

Nature hath no goal though she hath law.

Death, thou shalt die.

Twice or thrice had I loved thee before I knew thy face or name, so in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, angels affect us oft, and worshiped be.