I love a ballad but even too well if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably.

It comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earned him.

Should the poor be flattered? No; let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, and crook the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may follow fawning.

Report me and my cause aright.

He is not worthy of the honey-comb, that shuns the hives because the bees have stings.

Tempt not a desperate man

And ruin`d love when it is built anew, grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater