So Fair And Foul A

You Are Not Worth Another Word, Else I'd Call You Knave.

The Heart Hath Treble Wrong When It Is Barr'd The Aidance Of The Tongue.

Winding Up Days With Toil And Nights With Sleep.

When I Said I Would Die A Bachelor, I Did Not Think I Should Live Till I Were Married.

Neither My Place, Nor Aught I Heard Of Business, Hath Raised Me From My Bed; Nor Doth The General Care Take Hold On Me; For My Particular Grief Is Of So Floodgate And O'erbearing Nature That It Engluts And Swallows Other Sorrows, And It Is Still Itself.