Lawless Are They That Make Their Wills

O, What A World Of Vile Ill-favored Faults, Looks Handsome In Three Hundred Pounds A Year!

And Therefore, — Since I Cannot Prove A Lover, To Entertain These Fair Well-spoken Days, — I Am Determined To Prove A Villain, And Hate The Idle Pleasures Of These Days.

The Teeming Autumn Big With Rich Increase, Bearing The Wanton Burden Of The Prime Like Widowed Wombs After Their Lords Decease.

This Royal Throne Of Kings, This Scepter'd Isle, This Earth Of Majesty, This Seat Of Mars, This Other Eden, Demi-paradise.

For Conspiracy, I Know Not How It Tastes, Though It Be Dished For Me To Try How.