Get Thee A Good Husband, And Use

O That My Tongue Were In The Thunder's Mouth! Then With Passion Would I Shake The World.

Now, My Co-mates And Brothers In Exile, Hath Not Old Custom Made This Life More Sweet Than That Of Painted Pomp? Are Not These Woods More Free From Peril Than The Envious Court?

Thou Art An Elm, My Husband, I A Vine, Whose Weakness, Married To Thy Stronger State, Makes Me With Thy Strength To Communicate.

For In The Fatness Of These Pursy Times Virtue Itself Of Vice Must Pardon Beg.

I Wonder That You Will Still Be Talking. Nobody Marks You.