Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?
Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd, Shall never find it more.
The quality of mercy is not strained
Say, thou art mine; and ever, My love, as it begins, shall so persevere
Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters.
Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit.