“Cucullus non facit monachum; that’s as much to say, as I wear not motley in my brain.”

“I would not put a thief in my mouth to steal my brains.”

“But I will wear my heart upon my sleeveFor daws to peck at: I am not what I am.”

“My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.”

“Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.”

“Show me a man that is not passion's slave and I will wear him in my heart's core.”

“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember; and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts...There’s fennel for you, and columbines; there’s rue for you, and here’s some for me; we may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference. There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they wither’d all when my father died. They say he made a good end,— [Sings.]“For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.Thought and afflictions, passion, hell itself, She turns to favor and to prettiness. Song. And will a not come again? And will a not come again? No, no, he is dead; Go to thy deathbed; He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow, Flaxen was his poll. He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan. God ’a’ mercy on his soul.”