When love begins to sicken and decay it uses an enforced ceremony.

For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.

And what’s he then that says I play the villain?

But miserable most, to love unloved? This you should pity rather than despise

Journeys end in lovers meeting.

For 'tis the sport to have the engineerHoist with his own petard.

Wolves and bears, they say, casting their savagery aside, have done like offices of pity.