Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death.

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.

Adieu! I have too grieved a heart to take a tedious leave.

And when love speaks, the voice of all the gods makes Heaven drowsy with the harmony.

Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling.

Is this the generation of love? Hot blood, hot thoughts and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers?

I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath; Who shuns not to break one will sure crack both.