Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.
When once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right.
For I can raise no money by vile means.
If you would persuade, you must appeal to interest rather than intellect. We are advertis'd by our loving friends.
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.
When you depart from me sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.