I come, anon.⁠—But if thou mean’st not well, I do beseech thee⁠—

By and by, I come:⁠— To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send.

A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. Retiring.

Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer’s voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, With repetition of my Romeo’s name.

It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!