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.

I was adored once too.

The purest treasure mortal times can afford is a spotless reputation.

Can I go forward when my heart is here?

There's place and means for every man alive.

One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.

Be like you thought our love would last too long, if it were chain'd together