I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots as a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.

It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, "Thus diddest thou;"

The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.

The good I stand on is my truth and honesty.

But miserable most, to love unloved? This you should pity rather than despise

Why, thou owest god a death.