Love asks me no questions, and gives me endless support.
Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear
Profit is a blessing, if it's not stolen.
Affliction is enamoured of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.
If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?