I had rather be a kitten and cry mew Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers.
There was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.
What is light, if Sylvia be not seen? What is joy if Sylvia be not by?
Hate pollutes the mind.
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
Thou weedy elf-skinned canker-blossom!