Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.

Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire.

When thou cam'st first, Thou strok'st me and made much of me; wouldst give me Water with berries in't; and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night; and then I loved thee And showed thee all the qualities o' th' isle, The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile.

There is an old poor man,. . . . Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger.

Take but degree away, untune that string, and hark, what discord follows!

Headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.

Who can control his fate?