A sad tale's best for winter. I have one of sprites and goblins.
The force of his own merit makes his way-a gift that heaven gives for him.
Be like you thought our love would last too long, if it were chain'd together
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice, He offers in another's enterprise; But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be, Yet hold I off.
Th abuse of greatness is when it disjoins remorse from power.