Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! *It’s sad. Love looks like a nice thing, but it’s actually very rough when you experience it.*

You, and your lady, Take from my heart all thankfulness!

Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.

For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.

My love admits no qualifying dross

My love is as a fever, longing still.

And he goes through life, his mouth open, and his mind closed.