Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!
Why, love forswore me in my mother’s womb:
And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,
155 She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe,
[♦] To shrink mine arm up like a wither’d shrub;
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where sits deformity to mock my body;
To shape my legs of an unequal size;
160 To disproportion me in every part,
[♦] Like to a chaos, or an unlick’d bear-whelp