By God, I cannot flatter, I do defy The tongues of soothers! but a braver place In my heart's love hath no man than yourself. Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.

There is an old poor man,. . . . Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger.

He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.

Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.

As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.

The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men; the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.

Nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will.