| The Duchess of Malfi: The whole second description of the Duke | He speaks with others' tongues, and hears men's suits/With others' ears; will seem to sleep o' the bench/Only to entrap offenders in their answers;/Dooms men to death by information;/Rewards by hearsay. |
| BOSOLA: A little cruded milk, fantastical puff paste: our bodies are weaker than those paper prisons boys use to keep flies in…Such is the soul in the body…/DUCHESS/I am the Duchess of Malfi still. | Bosola and The Duchess of Malfi exchange 1 |
| Antonio's description of the Duke's creation | for he strews in his way flatterers, panders, intelligencers, atheist, and a thousand such political monsters… |
| Voplone; Mosca Act 3, Scene 1 | I fear I begin to grow in love/With my dear self and my most prosperous parts,/They do spring and burgeon…Success hath made me wanton. I could skip/Out of my skin now, like a subtle snake,/I am so limber |
| Whilst we, in changed shapes, act Ovid's tales,/Thou, like Europa now, and I like Jove, | Volpone's schpel part 1 for Cecelia |
| Whither, whither Is shame fled human breasts? That with such ease, Men dare put off your honours and their own | Celia's response |
| The Last Line, Act 5, Scene 8 | The seasoning of a play, is the applause./Now, though the Fox be punish'd by the laws,/He yet doth hope, there is no suffering due,/For any fact which he hath done 'gainst you;/If there be, censure him; here he doubtful stands:/If not, fare jovially, and clap your hands. |
| John Donne 10 | And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,/And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well, |
| Have found new sphears, and of new lands can write,/Powre new seas in mine eyes, that so I might/Drowne my world with my weeping earnestly | John Donne Sonnet 5 |
| John Donne Sonnet 14 | (Since to be gratious/Our taske is treble, to pray, beare, and doe) |
| The wrinkles in his foul death-threat’ning face/Gapes open wide, like graves to swallow men. | Michael's description of Black Will's face; Act III, Scene I |
| Arden's response; Act III, Scene I | I like not this, but I’ll go see myself.—/Ne’er trust me but the doors were all unlocked:/This negligence not half contenteth me. |
| And let me meditate upon my saviour Christ,/Whose blood must save me for the blood I shed. | Alice's last words, Scene Five |
