I am your wife if you will marry me. If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow You may deny me, but I'll be your servant Whether you will or no.
What is aught but as 'tis valued?
Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will!
You cram these words into mine ears against The stomach of my sense.
I thought my heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.
Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit.