Can't I another's face commend, Or to her virtues be a friend, But instantly your forehead louers, As if her merit lessen'd yours?

Other men it is said have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough.

I'll tell thee what it says; it calls me villain, a treacherous husband, a cruel father, a false brother; one lost to nature and her charities; or to say all in one short word, it calls me - Gamester.

'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.

Honesty needs no pains to set itself off.

Beauty has wings, and too hastily flies, and love, unrewarded, soon sickens and dies.

Faith goes out through the window when beauty comes in at the door.