To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.
Pride went before, ambition follows him.
I have not slept one wink.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph.
I never yet did hear, That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear
For to be wise and love exceeds man's might.