But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself—I will not say how true—
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit [with] an envious worm
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air
Or dedicate his beauty to the [sun.]
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure as know.
Enter Romeo