Helena. O, were that all! I think not on my father; 1.1.76 And these great tears grace his remembrance more 1.1.77 Than those I shed for him. What was he like? 1.1.78 I have forgot him: my imagination 1.1.79 Carries no favour in't but Bertram's. 1.1.80 I am undone: there is no living, none, 1.1.81 If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one 1.1.82 That I should love a bright particular star 1.1.83 And think to wed it, he is so above me: 1.1.84 In his bright radiance and collateral light 1.1.85 Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 1.1.86 The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: 1.1.87 The hind that would be mated by the lion 1.1.88 Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague, 1.1.89 To see him every hour; to sit and draw 1.1.90 His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 1.1.91 In our heart's table; heart too capable 1.1.92 Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: 1.1.93 But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 1.1.94 Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here?
Helena. O, were that all! I think not on my father; 1.1.76
And these great tears grace his remembrance more 1.1.77
Than those I shed for him. What was he like? 1.1.78
I have forgot him: my imagination 1.1.79
Carries no favour in't but Bertram's. 1.1.80
I am undone: there is no living, none, 1.1.81
If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one 1.1.82
That I should love a bright particular star 1.1.83
And think to wed it, he is so above me: 1.1.84
In his bright radiance and collateral light 1.1.85
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 1.1.86
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: 1.1.87
The hind that would be mated by the lion 1.1.88
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague, 1.1.89
To see him every hour; to sit and draw 1.1.90
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 1.1.91
In our heart's table; heart too capable 1.1.92
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: 1.1.93
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 1.1.94
Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here?
Nerd