I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks.

Now I will believe that there are unicorns.

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. There's fennel for you, and columbines: — there 's rue for you; and here's some for me: — we may call it, herb of grace o'Sundays: — you may wear your rue with a difference. — There's a daisy: — I would give you some violets; but they withered all, when my father died: — They say, he made a good end.

If your mind dislike anything obey it

Ay me! for aught that ever I could read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth.

This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,Was once thought honest.

No evil lost is wailed when it is gone.