When love begins to sicken and decay it uses an enforced ceremony.
Up and down, up and down I will lead them up and down I am feared in field in town Goblin, lead them up and down
I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?
To go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes
Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.
Through tattered clothes, small vices do appear. Robes and furred gowns hide all.