The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I That, lying by the violet in the sun, Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, Corrupt with virtuous season.

She is a woman, therefore to be won.

Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love

With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.

Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.

And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.

The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.