That's a valiant flea that dares eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.

Her virtues, graced with external gifts, Do breed love's settled passions in my heart; And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, So am I driven by breath of her renown Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive Where I may have fruition of her love.

Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.

Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.

That affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence.

So are you to my thoughts as food to life, or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground.

Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.