Love is a wonderful, terrible thing
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
Every subject's duty is the Kings, but every subject's soul is his own.
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, and with him rise weeping.
We may outrun By violent swiftness And lose by over-running.
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.