Then Hate Me When Thou Wilt, If

Done To Death By Slanderous Tongue

Comets Importing Change Of Times And States, Brandish Your Crystal Tresses In The Sky And With Them Scourge The Bad Revolting Stars.

The Deep Of Night Is Crept Upon Our Talk, And Nature Must Obey Necessity.

Alas, That Love, So Gentle In His View, Should Be So Tyrannous And Rough In Proof! *it’s Sad. Love Looks Like A Nice Thing, But It’s Actually Very Rough When You Experience It.*

Love's Mind Of Judgment Rarely Hath A Taste: Wings And No Eyes Figure Unheedy Haste.