They That Touch Pitch Will

Oh! That You Could Turn Your Eyes Towards The Napes Of Your Necks, And Make But An Interior Survey Of Your Good Selves.

She's Gone. I Am Abused, And My Relief Must Be To Loathe Her.

If You Shall Marry, You Give Away This Hand, And This Is Mine; You Give Away Heaven's Vows, And Those Are Mine; You Give Away Myself, Which Is Known Mine; For I By Vow Am So Embodied Yours That She Which Marries You Must Marry Me-- Either Both Or None.

Love Denied Blights The Soul We Owe To God.

I Cannot Do It Without Comp[u]ters.