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

Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy.

Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.

Each substance of a grief has twenty shadows.

Although she be but little, she is fierce.

The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?

Do it not with poison. Strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath contaminated.

The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You that; we this way.

She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is a woman, therefore to be won.

Scratching could not make it worse. . . such a face as yours.