Come, come, I’ll hear no more of this
Come, come, I'll hear no more of this. I'll
sing you a song now.
Ay, ay, prithee. Now, by my troth, sweet lord,
thou hast a fine forehead.
Ay, you may, you may.
Let thy song be love. “This love will undo us all.”
O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!
Love? Ay, that it shall, i' faith.
Ay, good now, “Love, love, nothing but love.”
In good troth, it begins so.
Love, love, nothing but love, still love, still more!
For, O, love's bow
Shoots buck and doe.
The shaft confounds
Not that it wounds
But tickles still the sore.
These lovers cry “O ho!” they die,
Yet that which seems the wound to kill
Doth turn “O ho!” to “Ha ha he!”
So dying love lives still.
“O ho!” awhile, but “Ha ha ha!”
“O ho!”groans out for “ha ha ha!”—Hey ho!
In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose.
He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds
hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and
hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love.
Is this the generation of love? Hot blood,
hot thoughts, and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers.
Is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who's
Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the
gallantry of Troy. I would fain have armed today,
but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my
brother Troilus went not?
He hangs the lip at something.—You know all,
Not I, honey sweet queen. I long to hear how
they sped today.—You'll remember your brother's
To a hair.
Farewell, sweet queen.
Commend me to your niece.
I will, sweet queen.
Sound a retreat.