So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. But they are creul tears. This sorrow's heavenly; it strikes where it doth love.

Demand me nothing: what you know, you know.

Is this the generation of love? Hot blood, hot thoughts and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers?

Tis a blushing shame-faced spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom. It fills a man full of obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold that (by chance) I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.

Send danger from the east unto the west, so honor cross it from the north to south.

O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.

But love is blind and lovers cannot see