Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.

Come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her sight

Love is merely a madness.

I do beseech you- Though I perchance am vicious in my guess , that your wisdom yet From one that so imperfectly conjects Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance.

As merry as the day is long.

Tis but a base, ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.

Ships are but boards, sailors but men; there be land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves, I mean pirates, and thenthere is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks.