O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.
Drown thyself? Drown cats and blind puppies.
How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.
Upon his royal face there is no note how dread an army hath enrounded him.
Let me confess that we two must be twain, although our undivided loves are one.