I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

For he was likely, had he been put on, to have proved most royally.

You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty!

Flout 'em, and scout 'em; and scout 'em, and flout 'em; / Thought is free.

Tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fear of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them.

Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!

If wishes would prevail with me, my purpose should not fail with me.