Let's go hand in hand, not one before another.

I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered.

Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away.' Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces; Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces

A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it.

His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.

God mark thee to His grace! Thou was the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed. And might I live to see thee married once, I have my wish.

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