Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

“What showers arise, blown with the windy tempest of my heart”

“It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, Al…”

“Oh, thou did'st then ne'er love so heartily.If thou rememb'rest not the slighte…”

“Observe him, for the love of mockery”