1 The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate action.
2 But sure the bravery of his grief did put me Into a tow'ring passion.
3 What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
4 Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself She turns to favour and to prettiness.
5 Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
6 This is the very ecstasy of love, Whose violent property fordoes itself, And leads the will to desperate undertakings, As oft as any passion under heaven That does afflict our natures.
7 Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness.
8 O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise.