Love Is . . . A Madness

Thou Hast Nor Youth Nor Age But As It Were An After Dinner Sleep Dreaming Of Both.

Then Happy I That Love And Am Beloved, Where I May Not Remove Nor Be Removed.

Men Have Marble, Women Waxen, Minds.

His Worst Fault Is, He's Given To Prayer; He Is Something Peevish That Way.

Truly, I Would Not Hang A Dog By My Will, Much More A Man Who Hath Any Honesty In Him.