I See, Sir, You Are Liberal In

It Warms The Very Sickness In My Heart, That I Shall Live And Tell Him To His Teeth, "thus Diddest Thou;"

The Very Substance Of The Ambitious Is Merely The Shadow Of A Dream.

A Cup Of Hot Wine With Not A Drop Of Allaying Tiber In 't.

A Contract Of Eternal Bond Of Love, Confirm'd By Mutual Joinder Of Your Hands, Arrested By The Holy Close Of Lips, Strength'ned By The Interchangement Of Your Rings, And All The Ceremony Of This Compact Seal'd In My Function, By My Testimony.

Our Rash Faults Make Trivial Price Of Serious Thing We Have, Not Knowing Them Until We Know Their Grave.