My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind; So flew'd, so sanded; their heads are hung with ears that sweep away the morning dew.

Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!

Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.

New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous (Nay, let em be unmanly), yet are followed.

O madam, my old heart is cracked, it's cracked!

Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues.

A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?