And ruin`d love when it is built anew, grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater

Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men.

His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own

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.

They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them