Hung Be The Heavens With Black! Yield,

I Am Ill At These Numbers.

So Now I Have Confessed That He Is Thine, And I My Self Am Mortgaged To Thy Will, My Self I'll Forfeit, So That Other Mine, Thou Wilt Restore To Be My Comfort Still.

You Shall More Command With Years Than With Your Weapons.

You Are Yoked With A Lamb, That Carries Anger As The Flint Bears Fire; Who, Much Enforced, Shows A Hasty Spank, And Straight Is Cold Again.

Nay, I Am The Very Pink Of Courtesy.