To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still.

Love is . . . a madness most discreet

I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come" (Phebe)

Let men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.

Death rock me asleep.

Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire.

To wilful men, the injuries that they themselves procure must be their schoolmasters.