“Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.”

“Me, poor man, my libraryWas dukedom large enough.”

“I can see he's not in your good books,' said the messenger.'No, and if he were I would burn my library.”

“By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you.Orl: He is drowned in the brook, look but in and you shall see him.Jaq: There I shall see mine own figure.Orl: Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.”

“You should not have believ'd me, for virtue cannot soinoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. I lov'd you not.”

“But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness.”

“Love is too young to know what conscience is,  Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?  Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,  Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:  For, thou betraying me, I do betray  My nobler part to my gross body's treason;  My soul doth tell my body that he may  Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason,  But rising at thy name doth point out thee,  As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,  He is contented thy poor drudge to be,  To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.    No want of conscience hold it that I call    Her 'love,' for whose dear love I rise and fall.”