Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian.

Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away.' Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces; Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces

Great griefs medicine the less.

O for a horse with wings!

I'll have no husband, if you be not he.

Tis a blushing shame-faced spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom. It fills a man full of obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold that (by chance) I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.

Then happy I that love and am beloved, where I may not remove nor be removed.