I must to the barber's, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face.

... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.

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

For what good turn? Messenger: For the best turn of the bed.

Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered!

Nice customs curtsy to great kings.