Biron. Once more I’ll mark how love can vary wit.
[097] Dum. [reads]
On a day—alack the day!—
[098] Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
100 Playing in the wanton air:
[101] Through the velvet leaves the wind,
[102] All unseen, can passage find;
[103] That the lover, sick to death,
[104] Wish himself the heaven’s breath.