Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.

Let us not burden our remembrances with a heaviness that's gone.

When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.

Here was a Caesar! When comes such another?

Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts- O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, And we are for the Dark.