I have drunk and seen the spider.

Drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things . . . nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.

O, swear not by the moon, the fickle moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable

Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.

How hard it is for women to keep counsel!

I must be cruel only to be kind; Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

Sweet love! Sweet lines! Sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart; Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn