Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke [rais'd] with the fume of sighs;
Being [purg'd,] a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears.
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
[A choking gall,] and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.
Benvolio. Soft! I will go along;
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Romeo. Tut, I have lost myself, I am not here;