O King, Believe Not This

I Find My Zenith Doth Depend Upon A Most Auspicious Star, Whose Influence If Now I Court Not, But Omit, My Fortunes Will Ever After Droop.

Foul Deeds Will Rise, Though All The Earth O'erwhelm Them, To Men's Eyes.

How Many Things By Season Seasoned Are To Their Right Praise And True Perfection!

Let Me Twine Mine Arms About That Body, Where Against My Grained Ash An Hundred Times Hath Broke And Scarr'd The Moon With Splinters: Here I Clip The Anvil Of My Sword, And Do Contest As Hotly And As Nobly With Thy Love As Ever In Ambitious Strength I Did Contend Against Thy Valour. Know Thou First, I Loved The Maid I Married; Never Man Sigh'd Truer Breath; But That I See Thee Here, Thou Noble Thing! More Dances My Rapt Heart Than When I First My Wedded Mistress Saw Bestride My Threshold.

Let Me Tell You, Cassius, You Yourself Are Much Condemned To Have An Itching Palm.