Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine.

Let me confess that we two must be twain, although our undivided loves are one.

With caution judge of probability. Things deemed unlikely, e'en impossible, experience oft hath proved to be true.

Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words

She's gone. I am abused, and my relief must be to loathe her.

Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter!

To hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature.