Ay me! for aught that ever I could read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth.

You have witchcraft in your lips, there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the French council; and they should sooner persuade Harry of England than a general petition of monarchs.

Heaven give you many, many merry days.

I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.

And in some perfumes there is more delight than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know that music hath a far more pleasing sound.

And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.

Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.