By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death and let it go which way it will he that dies this year is quit for the next

This is the very ecstasy of love.

My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am nor what I do.

Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, That I did never, no, nor never can, Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficiency?

And yet,to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.

Never anything can be amiss, when simpleness and duty tender it.

Give to a gracious message An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell Themselves when they be felt.