Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing of her gallèd eyes, She married. O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!

The wounds invisible that Love's keen arrows make.

What: is the jay more precious than the lark because his feathers are more beautiful?

Take you me for a sponge?

Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire; that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.

While thou livest keep a good tongue in thy head.

Courage mounteth with occasion.