Rich Gifts Wax Poor When Givers Prove

O, What Damned Minutes Tells He O'er Who Dotes, Yet Doubts, Suspects, Yet Fondly Loves!

I Am Wrapped In Dismal Thinking.

This Royal Throne Of Kings, This Sceptered Isle, This Earth Of Majesty, This Seat Of Mars, This Other Eden, Demi-paradise, This Fortress Built By Nature For Herself Against Infection And The Hand Of War, This Happy Breed Of Men, This Little World, This Precious Stone Set In The Silver Sea, Which Serves It In The Office Of A Wall Or As A Moat Defensive To A House, Against The Envy Of Less Happier Lands,--this Blessed Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England.

I Am In Blood Stepp'd In So Far, That, Should I Wade No More, Returning Were As Tedious As Go O'er.

Since I Do Purpose To Marry, I Will Think Nothing To Any Purpose That The World Can Say Against It; And Therefore Never Floutat Me For What I Have Said Against It; For Man Is A Giddy Thing, And This Is My Conclusion.