Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, than women's are.
Parting is such sweet sorrow
Ambition, the soldier's virtue.
My father compounded with my mother under the Dragon's tail, and my nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows, I am roughand lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear