This my mean task
Would be as heavy to me as odious, but
The mistress which I serve quickens what’s dead
And makes my labors pleasures. (III.i.)
I do not know
One of my sex, no woman’s face remember,
Save, from my glass, mine own. Nor have I seen
More that I may call men than you, good friend,
And my dear father. How features are abroad
I am skilless of, but, by my modesty,
The jewel in my dower, I would not wish
Any companion in the world but you,
Nor can imagination form a shape
Besides yourself to like of. (III.i.)
Ay, with a heart as willing
As bondage e’er of freedom. Here’ s my hand. (III.i.)