Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.

A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

Faith, stay here this night; they will surely do us no harm; you saw they speak us fair, give us gold; methinks they are such a gentle nation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me, could find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch.

You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both.

I pray you bear me henceforth from the noise and rumour of the field, where I may think the remnant of my thoughts in peace, and part of this body and my soul with contemplation and devout desires.

But miserable most, to love unloved? This you should pity rather than despise

O Lord that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!