We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly followed.

He hath eaten me out of house and home.

I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursued my humor not pursuing his, And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.

Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end.

Well, I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste man.

With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out

Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well.