Who knows his virtues name or place, hath none.
Other men's crosses are not my crosses.
Love is a growing, or full constant light; And his first minute, after noon, is night.
There is hook in every benefit, that sticks in his jaws that takes that benefit, and draws him whither the benefactor will.
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
If poisonous minerals, and if that tree, Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us, If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damned; alas; why should I be?