My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy.

Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.

If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul.

The instruments of darkness tell us truths.

What should we speak of When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December? how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?

And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.

They are but beggars that can count their worth.