All's Well That Ends Well
·I iii 41 ·
Verse
Countess If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; Our blood to us, this to our blood is born: It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults; or then we thought them none. Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now. |