What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds.

Let us not burden our remembrances with a heaviness that's gone.

What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds.

It comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earned him.

I'll say she looks as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew.

Love denied blights the soul we owe to God.

To be in anger is impiety, but who is man that is not angry?