Beauty lives with kindness.

Ingrateful man with liquorish draughts, and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind that from it all consideration slips.

O Death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!

Awake, dear heart, awake. Thou hast slept well. Awake.

Under the colour of commending him I have access my own love to prefer; But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.

Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.

Speak low, if you speak love.