When once our
grace we have forgot, nothing goes right
Some speech
Of marriage
Promised proportions feel short of compensation
Sequent
Death is all the grace I beg
Redeem thy brother
By yielding up thy body to my will…but thy unkindness shall his death draw out to ling’ring sufferance
We must not make
A scarecrow of the law, setting it up to fear birds of prey, and let it keep one shape, until custom make it their perch not their terror
Now I give my
Sensual race the rein: fit thy consent to my sharp appetite