My love to Hermia,
Melted as the snow, seems to me now
As the remembrance of an idle gaud
Which in my childhood I did dote upon.
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart,
The object and the pleasure of mine eye,
Is only Helena. To her, my lord,
Was I betrothed ere I saw Hermia,
But like a sickness did I loathe this food,
But, as in health, come to my natural taste,
Now I do wish it, love it, long for it,
And will for evermore be true to it.
– William Shakespeare