And since you know you cannot see yourself, so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself, that of yourself which you yet know not of.

Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?

You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. There's fennel for you, and columbines: — there 's rue for you; and here's some for me: — we may call it, herb of grace o'Sundays: — you may wear your rue with a difference. — There's a daisy: — I would give you some violets; but they withered all, when my father died: — They say, he made a good end.

The bird that hath been limed in a bush, with trembling wings misdoubteth every bush.

What can be happier than for a man, conscious of virtuous acts, and content with liberty, to despise all human affairs?

These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume