This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,--This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

Let the sap of reason quench the fire of passion.

He hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks.

Beshrew the heart that makes my heart to groan.

Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel.

Against love's fire fear`s frost hath dissolution

To have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes and poor hands.