O God, O God, How Weary, Stale,

When Love Begins To Sicken And Decay It Uses An Enforced Ceremony.

Bassanio: Do All Men Kill All The Things They Do Not Love? Shylock: Hates Any Man The Thing He Would Not Kill? Bassanio: Every Offence Is Not A Hate At First.

In Thy Youth Wast As True A Lover, As Ever Sighed Upon A Midnight Pillow

Shorten My Days Thou Canst With Sullen Sorrow, And Pluck Nights From Me, But Not Lend A Morrow; Thou Canst Help Time To Furrow Me With Age, But Stop No Wrinkle In His Pilgrimage.

I Hourly Learn A Doctrine Of Obedience.