Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies

And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.

The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.

Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?

I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.

All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.