More dear than light, or life, or fame.
And in the midst of briars it blows.
Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.
For love reflects the thing beloved.
Love is often a fruit of marriage.
Is there no bright reversion in the sky for those who greatly think or bravely die?
Do you know you have asked for the costliest thing, ever made by the Hand above?
If you give up your quiet life, the bow of Cupid will lose its power.