Not proud you have, but thankful that you have. Proud can I never be of what I hate, but thankful even for hate that is meant love.

It is thyself, mine own self's better part; Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart; My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.

O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven

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

Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts?

Each present joy or sorrow seems the chief.

A woman's thought runs before her actions.