I do honor the very flea of his dog.
All discourses but my own afflict me; they seem harsh, impertinent, and irksome
O! How vain and vile a passion is this fear! What base uncomely things it makes men do.
Whom hatred frights, let him not dream of sovereignty.
Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace Robes loosely flowing, hair as free Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art: They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
My thoughts and I were of another world.