Honour travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast.

My only love sprung from my only hate.

So are you to my thoughts as food to life, or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground.

Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.

Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.

Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod.

Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!