The pleasing punishment that women bear.
Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak.
I cannot but remember such things were that were most precious to me.
For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.
When you depart from me sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.
Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat; Of habits devil, is angel yet in this.