Journeys end in lovers' meeting; every wise man's son doth know

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

When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

But now will canker sorrow eat my bud And chase the native beauty from his cheek, And he will look as hollow as a ghost, As dim and meagre as an ague's fit, And so he'll die; and rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of heaven I shall not know him.

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