Oh, injurious love, that respites me a life, whose very comfort is still a dying horror
O hell! to choose love with another's eye.
Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.
There was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder, and that craves wary walking.
But jealous souls will not be answered so, They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous for they're jealous. 'Tis a monster Begot upon itself, born on itself.