Love's Labour's Lost
ARMADO: Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit grows melancholy?
MOTH: A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. (1.2.1-2)
ARMADO: If drawing my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and ransom him to any French courtier for a new-devis'd curtsy. (1.2.39)
ARMADO: Adieu, valour; rust, rapier; be still, drum; for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth. (1.2.92)