However wickedness outstrips men, it has no wings to fly from God.

Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no man's pleasure.

Scorn, at first, makes after-love the more.

Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit.

By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, And that no woman has, nor never none Shall mistress be of it save I alone.

Omittance is no quittance.

A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?