Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use Reason for his physician, he admits him not for his counsellor.

You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty!

Temptation is the fire that brings up the scum of the heart.

I know a place where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows.

They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them

Twas a clever quibble. Here, a garment for it.

You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.