Diseased Nature Oftentimes Breaks Forth

I Am Not Prone To Weeping As Our Sex Commonly Are; The Want Of Which Vain Dew Perchance Shall Dry Your Pities; But I Have That Honorable Grief Lodged Here Which Burns Worse Than Tears Drown.

Small Herbs Have Grace, Great Weeds Do Grow Apace.

The Tyrant Custom, Most Grave Senators, Hath Made The Flinty And Steel Couch Of War My Thrice-driven Bed Of Down.

Nay, I Am The Very Pink Of Courtesy.

Who Wooed In Haste, And Means To Wed At Leisure.