This thing of darkness I acknowlege mine. There is nothing more confining than the prison we don't know we are in.

Suffer love; a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.

Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow

How much an ill word may empoison liking!

I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.

Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

A woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not.