This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, this Senior Junior, giant dwarf...Cupid.

God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

And thence from Athens turn away our eyes To seek new friends and stranger companies.

Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away.' Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces; Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces

Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

In a false quarrel there is no true valor.

Free from gross passion or of mirth of anger constant spirit, not swerving with the blood, garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment, not working with the eye without the ear, and but in purged judgement trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem.