The iron tongue of Midnight hath told twelve lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outstep the coming morn as much as we this night over-watch'd.

Hardness ever of hardness is mother.

I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge.

Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender's books, and defy the foul fiend.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven.

If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not

There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.