Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad.
Who riseth from a feast With that keen appetite that he sits down?
O serpent heart hid with a flowering face! Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!
My love is as a fever, longing still.
Conscience is a thousand swords.
Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noontide night.