One sin another doth provoke.

A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm

Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night.

I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

An overflow of good converts to bad.

Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.

Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?