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And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; And flaky darkness breaks within the east. I had not quoted him: I fear'd he did but trifle, Whose being I do fear: and under him, Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage;