I Have Unclasp'd To Thee The Book

How Low Am I, Thou Painted Maypole?

Travelers Never Did Lie, Though Fools At Home Condemn Them.

Awake, Dear Heart, Awake. Thou Hast Slept Well. Awake.

O Call Not Me To Justify The Wrong, That Thy Unkindness Lays Upon My Heart, Wound Me Not With Thine Eye But With Thy Tongue, Use Power With Power, And Slay Me Not By Art.

It Is A Basilisk Unto Mine Eye, Kills Me To Look On't.