Bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest.

Let still woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart, For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner to be lost and warn, Than women's are.

for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.

Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in.

One fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.

Pastime passing excellent, if it he husbanded with modesty.

I humbly do beseech of your pardon, For too much loving you