Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear

Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.

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

There was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.

You have witchcraft in your lips

O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that do choke their service up Even with the having. . . .

Thou frothy tickle-brained hedge-pig!