I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.

Pray you now forget and forgive.

To cool a gipsy's lust.

Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.

They have tied me to a stake. I cannot fly, 1 But, bear-like, I must fight the course.

When you do dance, I wish you a wave o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that.

O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,. That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!