My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move!

That which her slender waist confined Shall now my joyful temples bind; No monarch but would give his crown His arms might do what this has done.

Go, lovely rose! Tell her that wastes her time and me That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.

To man, that was in th' evening made, Stars gave the first delight; Admiring, in the gloomy shade, Those little drops of light.

Love is the whole history of a woman's life, it is an episode in a man's.

I'm twenty-seven, she's seventeen. 'Blind Cupid, lame Cupid, both blind and lame Cupid said, Love this girl,'

If a thing loves, it is infinite.