Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.
Take you me for a sponge?
Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.
The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.