Then happy I that love and am beloved, where I may not remove nor be removed.

Report of fashions in proud Italy Whose manners still our tardy-apish nation Limps after in base imitation

Should the poor be flattered? No; let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, and crook the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may follow fawning.

If thou couldst, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud you again.

O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.

Can I go forward when my heart is here?

The blood of youth burns not with such excess as gravity's revolt to wantonness.