Oh, injurious love, that respites me a life, whose very comfort is still a dying horror
But here's the joy: my friend and I are one, Sweet flattery!
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.
There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail.
The due of honor in no point omit.