“His jest shall savour but a shallow wit, when thousands more weep than did laugh it.”

“Thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.”

“Come away, come away, Death,And in sad cypress let me be laid;Fly away, fly away, breath,I am slain by a fair cruel maid.My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it!My part of death no one so true did share it.Not a flower, not a flower sweet,On my black coffin let there be strewn:Not a friend, not a friend greetMy poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown.A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O whereSad true lover never find my grave, to weep there!”

“Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of our generation you shall find.”

“What would you have? Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness.”

“Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.”

“Fie, wrangling queen!Whom everything becomes, to chide, to laugh,To weep; whose every passion fully strivesTo make itself, in thee, fair and admired!”