“Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joyBe heaped like mine, and that thy skill be moreTo blazon it, then sweeten with thy breathThis neighbours air, and let rich music’s tongueUnfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter.”

“So thou being rich in Will add to thy WillOne will of mine to make thy large Will more.Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill;Think all but one, and me in that one, Will”

“I could a tale unfold whose lightest wordWould harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres,Thy knotted and combined locks to part,And each particular hair to stand on endLike quills upon the fretful porpentine.But this eternal blazon must not beTo ears of flesh and blood.List, list, O list!”

“So well thy words become thee as thy wounds,They smack of honor both.”

“Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, thy dial how thy precious minutes waste”

“Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger,Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.”

“Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man, And they in France of the best rank and station Are of a most select and generous chief in that.”