Dissembling Harlot, Thou Art False In All!

It Was Always Yet The Trick Of Our English Nation, If They Have A Good Thing, To Make It Too Common.

Then Must You Speak Of One That Loved Not Wisely But Too Well, Of One Not Easily Jealous But, Being Wrought, Perplexed In The Extreme; Of One Whose Hand, Like The Base Indian, Threw A Pearl Away Richer Than All His Tribe; Of One Whose Subdued Eyes, Albeit Unused To The Melting Mood, Drop Tears As Fast As The Arabian Trees Their Medicinable Gum. Set You Down This, And Say Besides That In Aleppo Once, Where A Malignant And A Turbaned Turk Beat A Venetian And Traduced The State, I Took By Th' Throat The Circumcised Dog And Smote Him Thus.

Pardon, Gentles All, The Flat Unraised Spirits That Have Dared On This Unworthy Scaffold To Bring Forth So Great An Object.

My Hounds Are Bred Out Of The Spartan Kind; So Flew'd, So Sanded; Their Heads Are Hung With Ears That Sweep Away The Morning Dew.

From You Have I Been Absent In The Spring, When Proud Pied April, Dressed In All His Trim, Hath Put A Spirit Of Youth In Every Thing.