Ay Me! Sad Hours Seem

Me, Poor Man, My Library Was Dukedom Large Enough.

You Peasant Swain! You Whoreson Malt-horse Drudge!

A Woman Would Run Through Fire And Water For Such A Kind Heart.

What The Vengeance, Could He Not Speak 'em Fair?

That Affable Familiar Ghost Which Nightly Gulls Him With Intelligence.