Henry IV.
Farewell,
Thou pure impiety, thou impious purity,
For thee I’ll lock up all the gates of love.
Much Ado about Nothing.
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Love will expire - the gay, the happy dream
Will turn to scorn, indiff’rence, or esteem:
Some favour’d pairs, in this exchange, are blest,
Nor sigh for raptures in a state of rest;