You must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!
Thy friendship makes us fresh.
Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure, And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour-a great patience.
Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.
The attempt and not the deed confounds us.