Thou Art An Elm, My Husband, I

You May My Glories And My State Depose, But Not My Griefes; Still Am I King Of Those.

Be Not Afraid Of Greatness.

Lawless Are They That Make Their Wills Their Law.

That Strain Again! It Had A Dying Fall: O, It Came O'er My Ear Like The Sweet Sound That Breathes Upon A Bank Of Violets, Stealing And Giving Odour! Enough; No More: 'tis Not So Sweet As It Was Before.

As True As Steel, As Plantage To The Moon, As Sun To Day, At Turtle To Her Mate, As Iron To Adamant, As Earth To Centre.