Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues.
Be not afraid of greatness.
Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.
Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?
O for a horse with wings!
O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.