I Dote On His Very Absence.

O, A Kiss Long As My Exile, Sweet As My Revenge! Now, By The Jealous Queen Of Heaven, That Kiss I Carried From Thee, Dear, And My True Lip Hath Virgined It E'er Since.

Uneasy Lies The Head That Wears A Crown.

A Cup Of Hot Wine With Not A Drop Of Allaying Tiber In 't.

Retire Me To My Milan, Where Every Third Thought Shall Be My Grave.

A Heavier Task Could Not Have Been Impos'd, Than I To Speak My Griefs Unspeakable.