He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.

My love's more richer than my tongue.

He reads much; He is a great observer and he looks Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays, As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music; Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit That could be moved to smile at any thing. Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous.

Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.

I humbly do beseech of your pardon, For too much loving you

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember.

Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.