O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do.
Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.
I cannot but remember such things were that were most precious to me.
O heaven! were man, But constant, he were perfect.
I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.