If music be the food of love, Play on. Give me excess of that, Surfeiting, The Appetite may sicken, and so die....
That strain again, it had a dying fall Oh, 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.
will you go hunt, my lord?
Why, so I do, the noblest that I have. Oh, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought she purged the air of pestilence. That instant was I turned into a hart, And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, E'er since pursue me.