This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.
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!
You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.
But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk.
And where the offense is, let the great axe fall.