That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.

Thou seest I have more flesh than another man, and therefore more frailty.

So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

This is the very ecstasy of love.

The trust I have is in mine innocence, and therefore am I bold and resolute.

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?

I profess not talking: only this, Let each man do his best.