There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distill it out.
She is a woman, therefore to be won.
One fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.
And too soon Marred are those so early Made.
Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.
Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.