How now, my love? why your cheek so pale?
How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

Belike for want of rain, which I could well
Beteem them the tempest of my eyes.

Ay me! For aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale of history,
The course of true love never did run smooth;
But either it was different in blood...

O cross! too high to be enthralled to low.

Or else misgraffed in respect of years..

O spite! to old to be engaged to young.

or else it stood upon the choice of friends..

O hell! to choose love by another's eyes.

Of if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it
Making it momentany as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That in a spleen unfolds both heaven and earth,
And, ere a man hath power to say "Behold!",
The jaws of darkness do devour it up.
So quick bright things come to confusion.

If then true lovers have ever crossed
It stands as an edict in destiny.
Then let us teach our trial patience,
Because it is a customary cross,
As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs,
Wishes, and tears.. poor fancy's followers.