Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified.

O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labor.

Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King.

An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.

Look how the world's poor people are amazed at apparitions, signs and prodigies!

True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.

She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is a woman, therefore to be won.