If music be the food of love, play on;

Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,

The appetite may sicken, and so die. —

That strain again! It had a dying fall:

O, it came oer my ear, like the sweet sound

That breathes upon a bank of violets,

Stealing and giving odour. Enough! No more.

'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef and I believe that does harm to my wit.

Is it a world to hide virtues in?

Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.

Oh Time, thou must untangle this, not I;

It is too hard a knot for me to untie.

Youth's a stuff will not endure.

She never told her love,

But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,

Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought,

And, with a green and yellow melancholy,

She sat like Patience on a monument,

Smiling at grief.

Then let thy love be younger than thyself,

Or thy affection cannot hold the bent;

For women are as roses, whose fair flower

Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em.

Now is the woodcock near the gin.

This fellow is wise enough to play the fool;

And to do that well craves a kind of wit:

He must observe their mood on whom he jests,

The quality of persons, and the time,

And, like the haggard, cheque at every feather

That comes before his eye. This is a practise

As full of labour as a wise man's art

For folly that he wisely shows is fit;

But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.

O, world, how apt the poor are to be proud!

If one should be a prey, how much the better

To fall before the lion than the wolf!

Love's night is noon.

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.

I hate ingratitude more in a man

Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,

Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption

Inhabits our frail blood.

Out of the jaws of death.

In nature there's no blemish but the mind;

None can be called deformed but the unkind.

Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil

Are empty trunks o'erflourish'd by the devil.

That, that is, is.

Thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

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