It is not vain glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own chamber.

The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.

Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.

That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.

So may he rest, his faults lie gently on him!

But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.

Why, then the world ’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.