Fight to the last gasp.

Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying!

But till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise, or I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her; fair, or I'll never look on her; mild, or come not near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, and excellent musician and her hair shall be of what colour it shall please God.

Let me confess that we two must be twain, although our undivided loves are one.

Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.

The poorest service is repaid with thanks.

We go to gain a little patch of ground that hath in it no profit but the name.