My Heart Is Turned To Stone; I

Wilt Thou Whip Thine Own Faults In Other Men?

O, Then, What Graces In My Love Do Dwell, That He Hath Turn'd A Heaven Unto Hell

Men That Make Envy And Crooked Malice Nourishment, Dare Bite The Best.

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.

Thus Did I Keep My Person Fresh And New, My Presence, Like A Robe Pontifical, Ne'er Seen But Wondered At, And So My State, Seldom But Sumptuous, Showed Like A Feast.