Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.
Good reasons must of force give place to better.
Me, poor man, my library Was dukedom large enough.
Love will not be spurred to what it loathes
This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end.
My love's more richer than my tongue.