Love is . . . a madness most discreet
The Play's the Thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.
O! that a man might know The end of this day's business, ere it come; But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known.
Britain is A world by itself, and we will nothing pay For wearing our own noses.
And she's fair I love.
Love is merely a madness.