Twelfth Night

by: William Shakespeare

Act III, Scene i-ii

1
A sentence is but a chervil glove to a good wit
(III,i)
2
Go, write it in a martial hand. Be curst and brief.
It is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent, and full of
invention (III.ii)
3
…My willing love,
The rather by these arguments of fear,
Set forth in your pursuit (III.iii)