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

Let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon

There's some ill planet reigns: I must be patient till the heavens look With an aspect more favourable.

There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous men.

I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely but too well; Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, Perplexed in the extreme. . .

For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

Society is no comfort, to one not sociable.