Thou lump of foul deformity!
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come.
This is the very ecstasy of love, whose violent property ordoes itself and leads the will to desperate undertakings.
Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.