The prize of all too precious you.

To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast!

There is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman than report of valor.

He is not worthy of the honey-comb, that shuns the hives because the bees have stings.

This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

To take arms against a sea of troubles.

And be these juggling friends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.