Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.

Her virtues, graced with external gifts, Do breed love's settled passions in my heart; And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, So am I driven by breath of her renown Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive Where I may have fruition of her love.

Remuneration! O! That's the Latin word for three farthings

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.

Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, And where we are our learning likewise is.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.