No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.

I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.

Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?

Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion.

To die: - to sleep: No more; and, by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished.

He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer.