Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.

It is lost at dice, what ancient honor won.

It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.

Then others for breath of words respect, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.

The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea.

Love laughs at locksmiths.

Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side