What made me love thee? let that persuade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee
Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak.
Such as we are made of, such we be.
I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew, Than one of these same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I had rather heare a Brazen Candlestick turn'd, Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree, And that would set my teeth nothing an edge, Nothing so much, as mincing Poetrie.
Twas a clever quibble. Here, a garment for it.
Here will be an old abusing of God's patience and the king's English.