The summer's flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die
No doubt they rose up early to observe the rite of May; and, hearing our intent, Came here in grace of our solemnity.
No profit grows where no pleasure is taken.
Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing of her gallèd eyes, She married. O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!