O madam, my old heart is cracked, it's cracked!

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

Free from gross passion or of mirth of anger constant spirit, not swerving with the blood, garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment, not working with the eye without the ear, and but in purged judgement trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem.

Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none!.

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noontide night.

Beauty within itself should not be wasted.

Sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue.