Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black, and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.

Talking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds.

But 'tis common proof, that lowliness is young ambition's ladder, whereto the climber-upward turns his face; but when he once attains the upmost round, he then turns his back, looks in the clouds, scorning the vase defrees by which he did ascend.

Stars hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires: The eyes wink at the hand; yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see

The gallantry of his grief did put me into a towering passion.

I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.

Fishes live in the sea, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones.