This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory.

O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, leave not the mansion so long tenantless; lest, growing ruinous, the building fall and leave no memory of what it was!

Full of wise saws and modern instances.

Which means she to deceive, father or mother?

Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, Manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.

This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end.