We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.
Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no man's pleasure.
Virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.
Spirits are not finely touched But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But like a thrifty goddess she determines Herself the glory of a creditor,Both thanks and use.