His Words Are Bonds, His Oaths Are

My Way Of Life Is Fall'n Into The Sear And Yellow Leaf.

I Am Falser Than Vows Made In Wine.

Come Away, Come Away, Death, And In Sad Cypress Let Me Be Laid; Fly Away, Fly Away, Breath, I Am Slain By A Fair Cruel Maid. My Shroud Of White Stuck All With Yew, O Prepare It! My Part Of Death No One So True Did Share It. Not A Flower, Not A Flower Sweet, On My Black Coffin Let There Be Strewn: Not A Friend, Not A Friend Greet My Poor Corpse, Where My Bones Shall Be Thrown. A Thousand Thousand Sighs To Save, Lay Me O Where Sad True Lover Never Find My Grave, To Weep There!

But Men May Construe Things After Their Fashion, Clean From The Purpose Of The Things Themselves.

A Plague Of Sighing And Grief! It Blows A Man Up Like A Bladder.