Thou weedy elf-skinned canker-blossom!
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.
Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech.
What's the newest grief? Each minute tunes a new one.
The wounds invisible that Love's keen arrows make.
Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies