Patch grief with proverbs.

Bassanio: Do all men kill all the things they do not love? Shylock: Hates any man the thing he would not kill? Bassanio: Every offence is not a hate at first.

We that are true lovers run into strange capers.

World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee/ Life would not yield to age.

I may command where I adore.

Grief makes one hour ten.

I will be correspondent to command, And do my spiriting gently.