Love thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.

Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

Speak to me as to thy thinkings As thou dost ruminate and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words.

For you and I are past our dancing days.

But where the greater malady is fix'd The lesser is scarce felt.

Either thou or I, or both, must go with him.

Speak low, if you speak love.