Прошло 400 лет, но мало что изменилось, ревность всё так же мучит, как при Шекспире 139      O call not me to justify the wrong      That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;      Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue;      Use power with power, and slay me not by art.      Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight,      Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside;      What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might      Is more than my o'erpressed defense can bide?      Let me excuse thee: `Ah, my love well knows      Her pretty looks have been mine enemies,      And therefore from my face she turns my foes,      That they elsewhere might dart their injuries...