And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banish'd from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her Is self from self: a deadly banishment!

Maids want nothing but husbands, and when they have them, they want everything.

Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity

Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.

Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

What e'er thou art, act well thy part.