If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
Wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes, but presently prevent the ways to wail.
I was born free as Caesar; so were you
There's beggary in love that can be reckoned
The eagle suffers little birds to sing.