If you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.

Gold were as good as twenty orators.

What is more miserable than discontent?

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

Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.

Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.