This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-Paradise.

What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.

In a false quarrel there is no true valor.

I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched in so many giddy offences as He hath generally taxed their whole their whole sex withal.

Thou art a very ragged Wart.

The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle that's curded by the frost from purest snow.

Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful