I left no ring with her. What means this lady? Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her! She made good view of me, indeed so much That sure methought her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speak in starts, distractedly. She loves me, sure! The cunning of her passion Invites me in this churlish messenger. None of my lord's ring? Why, he sent her none. I am the man. If it be so -- as 'tis -- Poor lady, she were better love a dream.

Disguise, I see, though art a wickedness Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. How easy is it for the proper false In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we, For such as we are made of, such we be. How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly; And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. What will become of this? As I am man, My state is desperate for my masters' love; As I am woman -- now alas the day! -- What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! O Time, though must untangle this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me t' untie!

haha it's okay me too. this is the first book i've posted that i've "made progress" on, and that's only because of school.

haha love it. i did post it on tumblr a few days ago! :]

If music be the fruit of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die. That strain again! It had a dying fall; O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odor. Enough; no more. 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou, That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, naught enters there, Of what validity and pitch so'er, But falls into abatement and low price Even in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy That it alone is high fantastical.