Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.

O heaven! that one might read the book of fate, and see the revolution of the times.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.

Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.

Simply the thing that I am shall make me live.

For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.

Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honour's at the stake.