O Wretched State! O Bosom

What's In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet.

This Blessèd Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England This Nurse, This Teeming Womb Of Royal Kings, . . . This Land Of Such Dear Souls, This Dear Dear Land.

Sorrow Breaks Seasons And Reposing Hours, Makes The Night Morning, And The Noontide Night.

Maids Want Nothing But Husbands, And When They Have Them, They Want Everything.

A Turn Or Two I'll Walk To Still My Beating Mind.