Love hath made thee a tame snake

I understand a fury in your words But not your words.

So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip's bell i lie There I couch when owls do cry

Nature does require her time of preservation, which perforce, I her frail son amongst my brethren mortal, must give my attendance to.

Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat; Of habits devil, is angel yet in this.

Every fair from fair sometime declines