Haply for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have; or for I am declined Into the vale of years—yet that’s not much— She’s gone. I am abused, and my relief Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours And not their appetites! 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. Yet ’tis the plague of great ones; Prerogatived are they less than the base. ’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death.

The world must be peopled!

O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! And yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping.

And ruin`d love when it is built anew, grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater

Be not afraid of greatness.

All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.