Hung Be The Heavens With Black! Yield,

You Saw Her Fair, None Else Being By, Herself Pois'd With Herself In Either Eye; But In That Crystal Scales Let There Be Weigh'd Your Lady's Love Against Some Other Maid That I Will Show You Shining At This Feast, And She Shall Scant Show Well That Now Seems Best.

Grace Me No Grace, Nor Uncle Me No Uncle; I Am No Traitor's Uncle, And That Word "grace" In An Ungracious Mouth Is But Profane.

Gold--what Can It Not Do, And Undo?

Promising Is The Very Air O' The Time; It Opens The Eyes Of Expectation.

Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me, The Handle Toward My Hand?