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.
An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
We must be gentle now we are gentlemen.
It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.