'Tis pride that pulls the country down.
If thou couldst, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud you again.
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain.
Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life.
No worse a husband than the best of men.
There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.