Give thy thoughts no tongue, nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar but by no means vulgar.
Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
Un-thread the rude eye of rebellion, and welcome home again discarded faith.
A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences.
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks
I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come" (Phebe)