In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life.

Get thee to a nunnery.

I'll speak in a monstrous little voice.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony

Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues.

Good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well used.

Be like you thought our love would last too long, if it were chain'd together