There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook.

Thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife!

For I am he am born to tame you, Kate; and bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate conformable as other household Kates.

Blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please.

God, the best maker of all marriages, Combine your hearts into one.

He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.

I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.