My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
Mercutio: "If love be rough with you, be rough with love.
Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. -Sonnet 73
How is it that the clouds still hang on you?