And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness!

The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.

For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy

Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.

I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.

You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.

This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.