So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. But they are creul tears. This sorrow's heavenly; it strikes where it doth love.
The rest, is silence.
I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light
Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.
If I shall be condemned Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 'Tis rigor and not law.