I Am Declined Into The Vale Of

Weariness Can Snore Upon The Flint When Resting Sloth Finds The Down Pillow Hard.

Well, If Fortune Be A Woman, She's A Good Wench For This Gear.

The Barge She Sat In, Like A Burnish'd Throne, Burnt On The Water.

I Will Chide No Breather In The World But Myself, Against Whom I Know Most Faults.

If You Shall Marry, You Give Away This Hand, And This Is Mine; You Give Away Heaven's Vows, And Those Are Mine; You Give Away Myself, Which Is Known Mine; For I By Vow Am So Embodied Yours That She Which Marries You Must Marry Me-- Either Both Or None.