Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.

If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.

O, swear not by the moon, the fickle moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable

For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?

O' thinkest thou we shall ever meet again? I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our times to come.

In friendship, as in love, we are often happier through our ignorance than our knowledge.