That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.

So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue.

Men should be what they seem.

He is winding the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.

'Tis brief, my lord...as woman's love.

Passion lends them power, time means to meet, tempering extremities with extremes sweet.