Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew; Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.

For some must watch, while some must sleep So runs the world away

I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.

There is little choice in a barrel of rotten apples.

As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, / I must not look to have; but, in their stead, / Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, / Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not" (5.3.25-28).

Good name in man and woman is the immediate jewel of their souls.

Time travels in divers paces with divers persons.