I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad.

The soul of this man is his clothes.

A true repentance shuns the evil itself, more than the external suffering or the shame.

For my own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

While we lie tumbling in the hay.

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?

Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow