The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart up on my sleeve
For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
(I.i.62-66)
His soul is so enfetter'd to her love
That she may make, unmake, do what she list,
Even as her appetite shall play the god
With his weak function.
(II.iii.334-37)
No, when light-wing'd toys
Of feather'd Cupid seel with wanton dullnessMy speculative and offic'd instruments,
That my disports corrupt and taint my business,
Let huswives make a skillet of my helm,
And all indign and base adversities
Make head against my estimation!
(I.iii.268—74)
No, let me know;
And knowing what I am, I know what she shall be.
(IV.i.72-73)