Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you.

How much more doth beauty beauteous seem by that sweet ornament which truth doth give!

After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.

Man and wife, being two, are one in love.

Death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!

By Heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate; And with my hand I seal my true heart's love

The painful warrior famous for fight, After a thousand victories, once foil'd, Is from the books of honor razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd