FRANCISCUS: How sweetly she looks! Oh, but there’s a wrinkle in her brow as deep as philosophy.

Let me feel how thy pulses beat.

I know she hates me, yet cannot choose but love her: No matter, if but to vex her, I’ll haunt her still; Though I get nothing else, I’ll have my will.

The slowest kiss makes too much haste.

Our eyes are sentinels unto our judgements,And should give certain judgement what they see;But they are rash sometimes, and tell us wondersOf common things, which when our judgments find,They can then check the eyes, and...

She that in life and love refuses me, In death and shame my partner she shall be.

Tis time to die, when ’tis a shame to live.