1 This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart.
2 No, my heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand.
3 You may indeed say so, For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart.'
4 The hearts of old gave hands, But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.
5 This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon, For he was great of heart.
6 You cannot, if my heart were in your hand, Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody.'
7 Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, She puts her tongue a little in her heart, And chides with thinking.
8 O perjur'd woman, thou dost stone my heart, And mak'st me call what I intend to do A murder, which I thought a sacrifice.
9 That I did love the Moor to live with him, My downright violence and storm of fortunes May trumpet to the world: my heart's subdued Even to the very quality of my lord.
10 These sentences to sugar or to gall, Being strong on both sides, are equivocal: But words are words; I never yet did hear That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear.
11 Madam, my former suit: I do beseech you That by your virtuous means I may again Exist, and be a member of his love, Whom I, with all the office of my heart, Entirely honour.
12 Zounds, sir, you're robb'd, for shame put on your gown, Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul; Even now, now, very now, an old black ram Is tupping your white ewe.
13 For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In complement extern, 'tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.'
14 Others there are Who, trimm'd in forms, and visages of duty, Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, And throwing but shows of service on their lords, Do well thrive by them, and when they have lin'd their coats, Do themselves homage.
15 A sibyl, that had number'd in the world The sun to course two hundred compasses, In her prophetic fury sew'd the work; The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk, And it was dyed in mummy, which the skillful Conserv'd of maiden's hearts.
16 I think thou dost; And for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath, Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more: For such things in a false disloyal knave Are tricks of custom; but in a man that's just, They're close dilations, working from the heart, That passion cannot rule.
17 But still the house affairs would draw her thence, Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse; which I observing, Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not intentively.
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