Like Patience Gazing On Kings' Graves, And

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent.

I Will Keep Where There Is Wit Stirring, And Leave The Faction Of Fools.

But Men Are Men; The Best Sometimes Forget.

The Little Dogs And All, Tray, Blanch, And Sweetheart-see, They Bark At Me.

Day, Night, Late, Early, At Home, Abroad, Alone, In Company, Waking Or Sleeping, Still My Care Hath Been To Have Her Match'd; And Having Now Provided A Gentleman Of Princely Parentage, Of Fair Demesnes, Youthful, And Nobly Train'd, Stuff'd, As They Say, With Honourable Parts, Proportion'd As One's Thought Would Wish A Man- And Then To Have A Wretched Puling Fool, A Whining Mammet, In Her Fortune's Tender, To Answer 'i'll Not Wed, I Cannot Love; I Am Too Young, I Pray You Pardon Me'!