All Pity Choked With Custom Of Fell

Wishers Were Ever Fools.

This Is The Very Ecstasy Of Love, Whose Violent Property Ordoes Itself And Leads The Will To Desperate Undertakings.

Villains, Vipers, Damn'd Without Redemption; Dogs, Easily Won To Fawn On Any Man; Snakes In My Heart-blood Warm'd, That Sing My Heart; Three Judases, Each One Thrice Worse Than Judas.

Here Feel We But The Penalty Of Adam, The Seasons' Difference, As The Icy Fang And Churlish Chiding Of The Winter's Wind, Which, When It Bites And Blows Upon My Body, Even Till I Shrink With Cold, I Smile.

Things In Motion Sooner Catch The Eye Than What Not Stirs.