I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.

Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue but moody and dull melancholy, kinsman to grim and comfortless despair.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony

He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat.

The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.

Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary.