Even as one heat another heat expels, or as one nail by strength drives out another, so the remembrance of my former love is by a newer object quite forgotten.

To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on.

Hang him, swaggering rascal!

Hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig.

Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent.

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving.

Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.