A little fire is quickly trodden out, Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.
Why, then the world ’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.
Sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
Love for thy love , and hand for hand I give.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-Paradise.
Venus smiles not in a house of tears.