They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them

So our virtues lie in the interpretation of the time

My business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.

Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye.

Cursed be he that moves my bones.

The moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun.

Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.— Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love Accompany your hearts!