All lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the perfection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one.

All lovers swear more performance than they are able

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged a fire sparkling in lovers eyes, being vexed a sea nourished with lovers tears, What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall and a perserving sweet.

Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

For she had eyes and chose me.

Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.