For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.

Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!

Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.

He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

Come not within the measure of my wrath.

Examine well your blood.

I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none