Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by
What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just.
O no, thy love though much, is not so great, It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, To play the watchman ever for thy sake. For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, From me far off, with others all too near.
Bounty, being free itself, thinks all others so.
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done!
Every great drama has its foreshadow.