Love's Labour's Lost
ARMADO: Assist me, some extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet.
Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio. (1.2.92)
HOLOFERNES: This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions. These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourish'd in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. (4.2.23)
HOLOFERNES: You find not the apostrophas, and so miss the accent: let me supervise the canzonet.(4.2.35)