She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm 'i th' bud, feed on her damask cheek. She pinned in thought; and, with a green and yellow melancholy, she sat like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more; but indeed our shows are more than will; for we still prove much in our vows but little in our love.
In this passage, the speaker reflects on the pain of unexpressed love. The imagery of a concealed affection is likened to a worm consuming a budding flower, illustrating how internal struggles can manifest physically. This unvoiced emotion leads to a melancholic state, as she sits in contemplation, embodying both patience and sorrow. The comparison to a statue highlights her stoic endurance despite her internal sadness.
The speaker then contrasts the expressions...
