By My Soul I Swear, There Is

But Earthlier Happy Is The Rose Distill'd Than That Which Withering On The Virgin Thorn Grows, Lives, And Dies In Single Blessedness.

Tell Me Where Is Fancy Bred, Or In The Heart, Or In The Head?

Courage Mounteth With Occasion.

Men That Make Envy And Crooked Malice Nourishment, Dare Bite The Best.

Faith, I Have Been A Truant In The Law And Never Yet Could Frame My Will To It, And Therefore Frame The Law Unto My Will.