Speak Comfortable Words.

You Common Cry Of Curs! Whose Breath I Hate As Reek O' The Rotten Fens, Whose Loves I Prize As The Dead Carcasses Of Unburied Men That Do Corrupt My Air, I Banish You; And Here Remain With Your Uncertainty!

Is Twenty Hundred Kisses Such A Trouble?

Then Hate Me When Thou Wilt, If Ever, Now.

Heaven Give You Many, Many Merry Days.

Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire; Doubt That The Sun Doth Move; Doubt Truth To Be A Liar; But Never Doubt I Love.