So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.
That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.
I was a coward on instinct.
My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming; I love not less, though less the show appear: That love is merchandised whose rich esteeming The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
I am not of that feather, to shake off my friend when he must need me