You may my Glories and my State depose, But not my Griefes; still am I King of those.

Many strokes, though with a little axe, hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

Alas, their love may be call'd appetite. No motion of the liver, but the palate

So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.

I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.

The due of honor in no point omit.

What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.