Of all base passions, fear is the most accursed.

O, that our fathers would applause our loves, To seal our happiness with hteir consents!

whats here a cup closed in my true loves hand poisin i see hath been his timeless end. oh churl drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. i will kiss thy lips some poisin doth hang on them, to help me die with a restorative. thy lips are warm. yea noise then ill be brief oh happy dagger this is thy sheath. there rust and let me die.

Oh, injurious love, that respites me a life, whose very comfort is still a dying horror

Love`s reason`s without reason

Then others for breath of words respect, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.

Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.