What power is it which mounts my love so high, that makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye

Nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will.

ROMEO to BALTHASAR But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.

Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.

Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.

He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.