Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat.

My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.

Love is a spirit all compact of fire.

Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.

No doubt they rose up early to observe the rite of May; and, hearing our intent, Came here in grace of our solemnity.