O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!
This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions: he is as valiant as a lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion.
Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well
I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo to in festival terms.
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.
Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.