Love Hath Made Thee A Tame Snake

Too Much Of Water Hast Thou, Poor Ophelia, And Therefore I Forbid My Tears: But Yet It Is Our Trick; Nature Her Custom Holds, Let Shame Say What It Will: When These Are Gone, The Woman Will Be Out. — Adieu, My Lord! I Have A Speech Of Fire, That Fain Would Blaze, But That This Folly Drowns It.

Enjoy'd No Sooner But Despised Straight, Past Reason Hunted, And No Sooner Had Past Reason Hated

Better A Witty Fool Than A Foolish Wit.

I Am Bewitched With The Rogue's Company. If The Rascal Have Not Given Me Medicines To Make Me Love Him, I'll Be Hanged.

Love Yourself; And In That Love Not Unconsidered Leave Your Honor.