A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.
No visor does become black villainy so well as soft and tender flattery.
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-Paradise.
Every why hath a wherefore.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony