（不太确定在莎剧里面是怎么分行的）

- Ay, but I know too well what love women to men may own: In faith they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter, who loved a man. As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your Lordship.

- And what's her history?

- A blank, my Lord. She never told her love, but let concealment like a worm in the bud feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought. And with a green and yellow melancholy, she sat like patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?

Oh, we men may say more, swear more--
But indeed our shows are more than will;
For still we prove much in our vows,
But little in our love.