Point to rich ends. 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 labours pleasures: O, she is
Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed,
And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up
Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress
Weeps when she sees me work, and says, such baseness
Had ne'er like executor. I forget;