She dreams of him that has forgot her love; You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity love should be so contrary; And thinking of it makes me cry 'alas!
Thou mak'st me merry: I am full of pleasure; let us be jocund
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.
My love admits no qualifying dross
Romans, countrymen, and lovers, hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear.
Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.