O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.

The labor we delight in physics [cures] pain.

The tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony.

If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage.

The setting sun, and the music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in rememberance more than long things past.

Comfort's in heaven, and we are on the earth

I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay more gazers than the basalisks; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Decieve more slily that Ulysses could, And like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colors to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages And set the murderous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut! were it further off, I'll pluck it down.