Let still the woman take
An elder than herself; so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn.
Than women's are.

_Twelfth Night, A. 2, S. 4.


'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.

_Twelfth Night, A. 1, S. 5._


Fresh tears
Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.

_Titus Andronicus, A. 3, S. 1._


Patience and sorrow strove
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once; her smiles and tears
Were like a better day: those happy smilets,
That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know
What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,