Exit, Pursued By A Bear.

Thy Wish Was Father, Harry, To That Thought.

Here I And Sorrows Sit; Here Is My Throne, Bid Kings Come Bow To It.

The Eye Of Man Hath Not Heard, The Ear Of Man Hath Not Seen, Man's Hand Is Not Able To Taste, His Tongue To Conceive, Nor His Heart To Report, What My Dream Was.

Full Many A Lady I Have Eyed With Best Regard, And Many A Time Th' Harmony Of Their Tongues Hath Into Bondage Brought My Too Diligent Ear; For Several Virtues Have I Liked Several Women; Never Any With So Full Soul But Some Defect In Her Did Quarrel With The Noblest Grace She Owed, And Put It To The Foil.

But I Will Be, A Bridegroom In My Death, And Run Into't As To A Lover's Bed.