Tell me, where is "love" born,
In the heart, or in the brain?
How was it born, how cared for?
Tell me, tell me.
It starts in the eyes,
With lots of gazing; and then dies
In the cradle where it lies.
Let us all ring love's death toll.
I'll begin it-Ding, dong, bell.
All: Ding, dong, bell.
From The Merchant of Venice
In this case love does not mean real self-sacrificing love, but fancy or "being in love."
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