I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; not the soldier's which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

There is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman than report of valor.

To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.

My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.

Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.

I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo to in festival terms.