I am not merry, but I do beguile the thing I am by seeming otherwise.
For trust not him that hath once broken faith
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.
O war! thou son of Hell!
There is a history in all men's lives.