There was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.
Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
Nature does require her time of preservation, which perforce, I her frail son amongst my brethren mortal, must give my attendance to.
Look how the world's poor people are amazed at apparitions, signs and prodigies!
Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure, And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour-a great patience.