To be in anger is impiety, but who is man that is not angry?
All thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test; here, afore heaven, I ratify this my rich gift.
Men from children nothing differ.
I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.
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.