text: What, have I thus betrayed my liberty?
  Can those black beams such burning marks engrave
  In my free side? or am I born a slave,
  Whose neck becomes such yoke of tyranny?
  Or want I sense to feel my misery?
  Or sprite, disdain of such disdain to have?
  Who for long faith, though daily help I crave,
  May get no alms but scorn of beggary.
  Virtue, awake! Beauty but beauty is;
  I may, I must, I can, I will, I do
  Leave following that which it is gain to miss.
  Let her go. Soft, but here she comes. Go to,
  Unkind, I love you not! O me, that eye
  Doth make my heart give to my tongue the lie!