Pray you now, forget and forgive.

Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.

These are the forgeries of jealousy; And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.

The pow'r that I have on you is to spare you; The malice towards you to forgive you.

wert thou as far As that vast shore washed with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise.

I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.

I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched in so many giddy offences as He hath generally taxed their whole their whole sex withal.