Thou shalt be free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command.

Do not spread the compost on the weeds.

To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.

Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.

What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off his wit!

O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with Time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face. But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?

Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.