Speak comfortable words.

O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.

We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly followed.

To saucy doubts and fears.

Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.

What showers arise, blown with the windy tempest of my heart

There is plenty of time to sleep in the grave