But Thought's The Slave Of Life, And

Let Me Twine Mine Arms About That Body, Where Against My Grained Ash An Hundred Times Hath Broke And Scarr'd The Moon With Splinters: Here I Clip The Anvil Of My Sword, And Do Contest As Hotly And As Nobly With Thy Love As Ever In Ambitious Strength I Did Contend Against Thy Valour. Know Thou First, I Loved The Maid I Married; Never Man Sigh'd Truer Breath; But That I See Thee Here, Thou Noble Thing! More Dances My Rapt Heart Than When I First My Wedded Mistress Saw Bestride My Threshold.

Fie, Fie Upon Her! There's Language In Her Eye, Her Cheek, Her Lip, Nay, Her Foot Speaks; Her Wanton Spirits Look Out At Every Joint And Motive Of Her Body.

Come What Sorrow Can, It Cannot Countervail The Exchange Of Joy, That One Short Minute Gives Me In Her Sight

My Charity Is Outrage, Life My Shame; And In That Shame Still Live My Sorrow's Rage!

Bring Me A Constant Woman To Her Husband, One That Ne'er Dream'd A Joy Beyond His Pleasure, And To That Woman, When She Has Done Most, Yet Will I Add An Honour-a Great Patience.