Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain

. . . it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself it is needful that you frame the season of your own harvest.

Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.

Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd, Shall never find it more.

If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage.

Is not the truth the truth?

No sooner met but they looked; no sooner looked but they loved; no sooner loved but they sighed; no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage.