The blood of youth burns not with such excess as gravity's revolt to wantonness.

She is mine own, And I as rich in having such a jewel As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.

But Kate, dost thou understand thus much English? Canst thou love me?" Catherine: "I cannot tell." Henry: "Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask them.

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poisoned flattery?

Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night.

O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. - Romeo -

I am not bound to please thee with my answer.