Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity

How many a holy and obsequious tear hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, as interest of the dead!

Being your slave what should I do but tend, Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend; Nor services to do till you require.

Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.

Tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fear of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them.

Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?

The tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony.