For this relief, much thanks

Never durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs.

I have bought golden opinions from all sorts of people.

We make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villians by compulsion.

Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak.

The very instant I saw you, did My heart fly to your service; there resides To make me slave to it. ...mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give, and much less take What I shall die to want.

Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, Manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man