I thought my heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.
Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
And be these juggling friends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.
Here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
Men have marble, women waxen, minds.
The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be changed: Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed, When cowardice pursues and valour flies.