Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!
And where the offense is, let the great axe fall.
A little more than kin, and less than kind.
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know.
I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge.
God, the best maker of all marriages, Combine your hearts into one.