The chameleon Love can feed on the air
Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil.
So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all.
Trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ.
A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder.
There was a star danced, and under that was I born.