I understand a fury in your words But not your words.
Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
He that dies pays all debts.
England is safe, if true within itself.
He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be mekancholy.