Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.

O father Abram, what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealing teaches them suspect The thoughts of others!

It easeth some, though none it ever cured, to think their dolour others have endured.

Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service

Oh, injurious love, that respites me a life, whose very comfort is still a dying horror

[S]ince brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.

If I be waspish, best beware my sting.