“From jygging vaines of riming mother wits,And such conceits as clownage keepes in pay,Weele leade you to the stately tent of War:Where you shall heare the Scythian Tamburlaine,Threatning the world with high astounding tearmsAnd scourging kingdoms with his conquering sword.View but his picture in this tragicke glasse,And then applaud his fortunes if you please.”

“Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit,His waxen wings did mount above his reach,And melting heavens conspired his overthrow.”

“I must have wanton Poets, pleasant wits,Musitians, that with touching of a stringMay draw the pliant king which way I please:Musicke and poetrie is his delight,Therefore ile have Italian maskes by night,Sweete speeches, comedies, and pleasing showes,And in the day when he shall walke abroad,Like Sylvian Nimphes my pages shall be clad,My men like Satyres grazing on the lawnes,Shall with their Goate feete daunce an antick hay.Sometime a lovelie boye in Dians shape,With haire that gilds the water as it glides,Crownets of pearle about his naked armes,And in his sportfull hands an Olive tree,To hide those parts which men delight to see,Shall bathe him in a spring, and there hard by,One like Actaeon peeping through the grove,Shall by the angrie goddesse be transformde,And running in the likenes of an Hart,By yelping hounds puld downe, and seeme to die.Such things as these best please his majestie,My lord.”

“Nay, could their numbers countervail the stars,Or ever-drizzling drops of April showers,Or wither'd leaves that autumn shaketh down,Yet would the Soldan by his conquering powerSo scatter and consume them in his rage, That not a man should live to rue their fall.”

“Wagner Doctor Faustus' student and servant: "Alas, poor slave! See how poverty jests in his nakedness. I know the villain's out of service, and so hungry that I know he would give his soul to the devil for a shoulder of mutton, though it were blood raw."Robin a clown: "Not so, neither! I had need to have it well roasted, and good sauce to it, if I pay so dear, I can tell you.”

“What makes my bed seem hard seeing it is soft?Or why slips downe the Coverlet so oft?Although the nights be long, I sleepe not tho,My sides are sore with tumbling to and fro.Were Love the cause, it's like I shoulde descry him,Or lies he close, and shoots where none can spie him?T'was so, he stroke me with a slender dart,Tis cruell love turmoyles my captive hart.Yeelding or striving doe we give him might,Lets yeeld, a burden easly borne is light.I saw a brandisht fire increase in strength,Which being not shakt, I saw it die at length.Yong oxen newly yokt are beaten more,Then oxen which have drawne the plow before.And rough jades mouths with stubburn bits are tome,But managde horses heads are lightly borne,Unwilling Lovers, love doth more torment,Then such as in their bondage feele content.Loe I confesse, I am thy captive I,And hold my conquered hands for thee to tie.What needes thou warre, I sue to thee for grace,With armes to conquer armlesse men is base,Yoke VenusDoves, put Mirtle on thy haire,Vulcan will give thee Chariots rich and faire.The people thee applauding thou shalte stand,Guiding the harmelesse Pigeons with thy hand.Yong men and women, shalt thou lead as thrall,So will thy triumph seeme magnificall.I lately cought, will have a new made wound,And captive like be manacled and bound.Good meaning, shame, and such as seeke loves wrackShall follow thee, their hands tied at their backe.Thee all shall feare and worship as a King,Jo, triumphing shall thy people sing.Smooth speeches, feare and rage shall by thee ride,Which troopes hath alwayes bin on Cupids side:Thou with these souldiers conquerest gods and men,Take these away, where is thy honor then?Thy mother shall from heaven applaud this show,And on their faces heapes of Roses strow.With beautie of thy wings, thy faire haire guilded,Ride golden Love in Chariots richly builded.Unlesse I erre, full many shalt thou burne,And give woundes infinite at everie turne.In spite of thee, forth will thy arrowes flie,A scorching flame burnes all the standers by.So having conquerd Inde, was Bacchus hew,Thee Pompous birds and him two tygres drew.Then seeing I grace thy show in following thee,Forbeare to hurt thy selfe in spoyling mee.Beholde thy kinsmans Caesars prosperous bandes,Who gardes the conquered with his conquering hands.-- ELEGIA 2 (Quodprimo Amore correptus, in triumphum duci se a Cupidine patiatur)”

“I am Wrath. I had neither father nor mother: I leaped out of a lion's mouth when I was scarce half an hour old, and ever since I have run up and down the world, with this case of rapiers, wounding myself when I had nobody to fight withal. I was born in hell - and look to it, for some of you shall be my father.”