O, Thou hast damnable iteration; and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint.
A peevish self-willed harlotry it is. *She’s a stubborn little brat.*
And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love.
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.
I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapor of a dungeon than keep a corner in the thing I love for others uses.
All thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test; here, afore heaven, I ratify this my rich gift.