And keep you in the rear of your affection, Out of the shot and danger of desire, The chariest maid is prodigal enough If she unmasks her beauty to the moon.

O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labor.

Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.

Wise men never sit and wail their loss, but cheerily seek how to redress their harms.

Our wills and fates do so contrary run.

I may neither choose who I would, nor refuse who I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father.

So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.