Love will not be spurred to what it loathes

The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea.

Although the last, not least.

O, swear not by the moon, the fickle moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable

By God, I cannot flatter, I do defy The tongues of soothers! but a braver place In my heart's love hath no man than yourself. Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.

If you would persuade, you must appeal to interest rather than intellect. We are advertis'd by our loving friends.

Fight valiantly to-day; and yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, for thou art framed of the firm truth of valor.