Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.
Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses.
Before, I loved thee as a brother, John, But now, I do respect thee as my soul.
One pain is lessened by another's anguish.
Your face is a book, where men may read strange matters.
You speak like a green girl / unsifted in such perilous circumstances.