And Sir, it is no little thing to make mine eyes to sweat compassion.

It adds a precious seeing to the eye;/ A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind;/ A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound.

Eyes, look your last!Arms, take your last embrace!

Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close;
And let us all to meditation.

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.

O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, When none will sweat but for promotion