Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet--nay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.

I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

If you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.

Alas, how love can trifle with itself!

Love asks me no questions, and gives me endless support.

Headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.

My love admits no qualifying dross