Exit, Pursued By A Bear.

Ay, But To Die, And Go We Know Not Where.

Let Me, If Not By Birth, Have Lands By Wit; All With Me's Meet That I Can Fashion Fit.

Thou Shalt Be Free As Mountain Winds: But Then Exactly Do All Points Of My Command.

Small Herbs Have Grace, Great Weeds Do Grow Apace.

That God Forbid, That Made Me First Your Slave, I Should In Thought Control Your Times Of Pleasure, Or At Your Hand Th' Account Of Hours To Crave, Being Your Vassal Bound To Stay Your Leisure.