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.

Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you.

Take but degree away, untune that string, and hark, what discord follows!

Art made tongue-tied by authority.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Verily, I swear, it is better to be lowly born, and range with humble livers in content, than to be perked up in a glistering grief, and wear a golden sorrow.

Ay, Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.