Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

Let not the world see fear and sad distrust govern the motion of a kingly eye.

I am that merry wanderer of the night.

Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.

Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.

Who is here so vile that will not love his country?

Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me