Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from th' entire point.

Fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger.

Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.

Out of her favour, where I am in love.

Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet--nay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.

As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.

There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December.