Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. Oh! I could hew up rocks, and fight with flint.

There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook.

I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.

And, if you love me, as I think you do, let's kiss and part, for we have much to do

Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you

I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad.

If music be the food of love, play on.