Gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

The soul of this man is his clothes.

She cannot love, nor take no shape nor project or affection, she is so self-endeared

Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men?

Take it in what sense thou wilt.

Is she kind as she is fair?

Let never day nor night unhallowed pass, but still remember what the Lord hath done.