A Young Man Married Is A Man

Faith, Stay Here This Night; They Will Surely Do Us No Harm; You Saw They Speak Us Fair, Give Us Gold; Methinks They Are Such A Gentle Nation That, But For The Mountain Of Mad Flesh That Claims Marriage Of Me, Could Find In My Heart To Stay Here Still And Turn Witch.

He Was Ever Precise In Promise-keeping.

Why, Look You, I Am Whipp'd And Scourg'd With Rods, Nettled And Stung With Pismires[nettles], When I Hear Of This Vile Politician, Bolingbroke.

Our Thoughts Are Ours, Their Ends None Of Our Own

Passion Lends Them Power, Time Means To Meet, Tempering Extremities With Extremes Sweet.