Even so by love the young and tender wit
Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud,
Losing his verdure even in the prime,
And all the fair effects of future hopes.

LOVE FROWARD AND DISSEMBLING.

Maids, in modesty, say, No, to that Which they would have the proferer construe, Ay. Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love, That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!

ADVANTAGE OF TRAVELLING.

He cannot be a perfect man,

Not being tried and tutor❜d in the world:
Experience is by industry achiev'd,

And perfected by the swift course of time.

LOVE COMPARED TO AN APRIL DAY.

O, how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day;
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away!

ACT II.

HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OF A MAN IN LOVE. Marry, by these special marks: First, you have learned, like sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a male-content; to relish a love-song, like a robinredbreast; to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his A, B, C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes

diet; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmast. You were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it was for want of money: and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.

AN ACCOMPLISHED YOUNG GENTLEMAN.

His years but young, but his experience old; His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe; And, in a word (for far behind his worth Come all the praises that I now bestow), He is complete in feature, and in mind, With all good grace to grace a gentleman.

CONTEMPT OF LOVE PUNISHED.

I have done penance for contemning love;
Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,
With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;
For, in revenge of my contempt of love,
Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes,
And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow,
O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord;
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess,
There is no woe to his correction,

Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth!
Now, no discourse, except it be of love;
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,
Upon the very naked name of love.

* Under a regimen. + Allhallowmas.

LOVE COMPARED TO A WAXEN IMAGE.

For now my love is thaw'd;

Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.

LOVE INCREASED BY ATTEMPTS TO SUPPRESS IT.

Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the fire of love with words. Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire; But qualify the fire's extreme rage,

Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. Jul. The more thou damp'st* it up, the more it The current, that with gentle murmur glides, [burns; Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; But, when his fair course is not hindered,

He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge

He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays,
With willing sport to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course:
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my love;
And, there I'll rest, as, after much turmoilt,
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

A FAITHFUL AND CONSTANT LOVER.

His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart; His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.

АСТ III.

PRESENTS PREVAIL WITH WOMAN.

Win her with gifts, if she respect not words; Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind,

More than quick words do move a woman's mind.

A LOVER'S BANISHMENT.

And why not death, rather than living torment? To die, is to be banish'd from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her, Is self from self; a deadly banishment! What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? Unless it be to think that she is by, And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, There is no day for me to look upon.

BEAUTY PETITIONING IN VAIN.

Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom (Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force), A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears: Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became As if but now they waxed pale with woe: [them, But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire.

HOPE.

Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, And manage it against despairing thoughts.

LOVE COMPARED TO A FIGURE ON ICE.

This weak impress of love is as a figure Trenched in ice; which with an hour's heat Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form.

THREE THINGS IN MAN DISLIKED BY FEMALES.

The best way is to slander Valentine
With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent;
Three things that women highly hold in hate.

THE POWER OF POETRY WITH FEMALES.

Say, that upon the altar of her beauty
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart:
Write till your ink be dry; and with your tears
Moist it again; and frame some feeling line,
That may discover such integrity:

For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews;
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.

ACT IV.

THE POWER OF ACTION.

At that time I made her weep a-good†,
For I did play a lamentable part:
Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning
For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight;
Which I so lively acted with my tears,
That
my poor mistress, moved therewithal,
Wept bitterly; and, would I might be dead,
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow!