Scorn, at first, makes after-love the more.
Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
Society is no comfort, to one not sociable.
Love sees with the heart and not with mind.
What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*