The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.

Life every man holds dear; but the dear man holds honor far more precious dear than life.

Here is a rural fellow that will not be denied your Highness' presence: he brings you figs.

You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.

The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.

But the strong base and building of my love is as the very centre of the earth, drawing all things to it.

Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, and clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter, I am your's for ever!