Alas! The love of women! It is known to be a lovely and a fearful thing. I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you.
If you give up your quiet life, the bow of Cupid will lose its power. Could I love less, I should be happier now. It is the one great woe of life, to feel all feeling die. I gaze on thee, and yearnings, sad in my bosom hide.
And why in love if not in that dear love of old? What! Keep a week away? Seven days and nights?
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