“Nay, I'll conjure too.Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh:Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;'Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thighAnd the demesnes that there adjacent lie,That in thy likeness thou appear to us!”

“WILLMORE: Nay, if we part so, let me die like a Bird upon a Bough, at the Sheriff's Charge. By Heaven, both the Indies shall not buy thee from me. I adore thy Humour and will marry thee, and we are so of one Humour, it must be a Bargain - give me thy Hand - [Kisses her hand.] And now let the blind ones (Love and Fortune) do their worst.”

“And while thoulivest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain anduncoined constancy; for he perforce must do theeright, because he hath not the gift to woo in otherplaces: for these fellows of infinite tongue, thatcan rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, they doalways reason themselves out again. What! aspeaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. Agood leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; ablack beard will turn white; a curled pate will growbald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will waxhollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and themoon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon; for itshines bright and never changes, but keeps hiscourse truly. If thou would have such a one, takeme; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier,take a king. And what sayest thou then to my love?speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee”

“Well, Henry, you can cease frowning at me. If I am a magician, I am a very indifferent one. Other adepts summon up fairy-spirits and long-dead kings. I appear to have conjured the spirit of a banker.”

“When Vanity kissed Vanity, a hundred happy Junes ago, he pondered o'er her breathlessly, and, that all men might ever know, he rhymed her eyes with life and death:"Thru Time I'll save my love!" he said. . . yet Beauty vanished with his breath, and, with her lovers, she was dead. . .-Ever his wit and not her eyes, ever his art and not her hair:"Who'd learn a trick in rhyme, be wise and pause before his sonnet there". . . So all my words, however true, might sing you to a thousandth June, and no one ever know that you were Beauty for an afternoon.”

“Nay, in many cases open denials of prayer prove the most excellent answers, and God's not hearing us is the most signal audience. Therefore at the foot of every prayer subscribe "thy will be done," and thou shalt enjoy preventing mercies that thou never soughtest, and converting mercies to change all for the best, resting confident in this, that having asked according to his will he heareth thee.”