What the vengeance, could he not speak 'em fair?
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.
Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
Ingrateful man with liquorish draughts, and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind that from it all consideration slips.
Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.
One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace.