I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered.

As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.

So our virtues lie in the interpretation of the time

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

What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off his wit!

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little more than a little is by much too much.

Take it in what sense thou wilt.