The play's the thing.

It is meant that noble minds keep ever with their likes; for who so firm that cannot be seduced.

The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.

For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

Every offense is not a hate at first.

Rude am I in my speech, And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace.

My crown is in my heart, not on my head; not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, nor to be seen: my crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.