Time does not have the same appeal for every one
To take arms against a sea of troubles.
And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banish'd from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her Is self from self: a deadly banishment!
What a deformed thief this fashion is.
There's nothing in this world can make me joy.
One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.