Ay me! sad hours seem long.

Was that my father that went hence so fast?

Why, such is love's transgression.

Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,

Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest

With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.

Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;

Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;

Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:

What is it else? a madness most discreet,

A choking gall and a preserving sweet.

Farewell, my coz.

I must indeed; and therefore came I hither.

Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man;

Fly hence, and leave me: think upon these gone;

Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,

Put not another sin upon my head,

By urging me to fury: O, be gone!

By heaven, I love thee better than myself;

For I come hither arm'd against myself:

Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say,

A madman's mercy bade thee run away.