This is a way to kill a wife with kindness.
Allow not nature more than nature needs.
Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.
Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?
What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.