Who is Silvia What is she, That all our swains commend her Holy, fair, and wise is she.

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing; ’twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.

You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life.

Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod.

We that are true lovers run into strange capers.

I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew, Than one of these same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I had rather heare a Brazen Candlestick turn'd, Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree, And that would set my teeth nothing an edge, Nothing so much, as mincing Poetrie.

Ambition, the soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, than gain which darkens him.