Tis the mind that makes the body rich.

O no, thy love though much, is not so great, It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, To play the watchman ever for thy sake. For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, From me far off, with others all too near.

We cannot fight for love, as men may do; we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven

What valor were it, when a cur doth grin, for one to thrust his hand between his teeth, when he might spurn him with his foot away?

To take arms against a sea of troubles.

If thou dost love, proclaim it faithfully.