My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.
I never yet did hear, That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear
Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
Passion makes the will lord of the reason.
Tis the mind that makes the body rich.
My love admits no qualifying dross