The weakest kind of fruit drops earliest to the ground.

Every great drama has its foreshadow.

All is well ended if this suit be won. That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day.

Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away.' Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces; Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces

Under the colour of commending him I have access my own love to prefer; But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.

Sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.

More matter with less art.