O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.

Well roared, lion.

Remember me.

For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite the man that mocks at it and sets it light.

Be free, and fare thou well!

Though I am not naturally honest, I am sometimes so by chance.

Yet, a barful strife! Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.