The let-alone lies not in your good will.
You cannot call it love, for at your age the heyday in the blood is tame
Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
Things in motion sooner catch the eye than what not stirs.
Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling and a rich.
As full of spirit as the month of May, and as gorgeous as the sun in Midsummer.