O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!

Come, Lady, die to live.

Good things should be praised.

There is no sure foundation set on blood, No certain life achieved by others' death.

Now the melancholy of God protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of changable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and their intent everywhere, for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing.

Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

They say best men are molded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad