With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.
And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banish'd from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her Is self from self: a deadly banishment!
So well thy words become thee as thy wounds.
Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens.