But men are men; the best sometimes forget.

The Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.

My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.

My love is as a fever, longing still.

For I can raise no money by vile means. By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas

thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead . . . . . . . . . . . . And breathed such life with kisses in my lips That I revived and was an emperor.