I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
I fill up a place, which may be better... when I have made it empty.
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
He was ever precise in promise-keeping.
Scorn, at first, makes after-love the more.
Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.