Have Patience, And Endure

When My Love Swears That She Is Made Of Truth, I Do Believe Her, Though I Know She Lies.

Give It An Understanding, But No Tongue.

Here's Flowers For You; Hot Lavender, Mints, Savoury, Marjoram; The Marigold, That Goes To Bed Wi' The Sun And With Him Rises Weeping: These Are Flowers Of Middle Summer, And I Think They Are Given To Men Of Middle Age.

Die For Adultery! No: The Wren Goes To't, And The Small Gilded Fly Does Lecher In My Sight

Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me, The Handle Toward My Hand? Come, Let Me Clutch Thee. I Have Thee Not, And Yet I See Thee Still. Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To Feeling As To Sight? Or Art Thou But A Dagger Of The Mind, A False Creation, Proceeding From The Heat-oppressed Brain?