New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous (Nay, let em be unmanly), yet are followed.

Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity

By God, I cannot flatter, I do defy The tongues of soothers! but a braver place In my heart's love hath no man than yourself. Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.

No visor does become black villainy so well as soft and tender flattery.

Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will!

Speak low, if you speak love.

All the world is a stage and we are merely players.