Where love fails we espy all faults.

A child may have too much of his mother's blessing.

They love too much that die for love.

I love thee like puddings; if thou wert pie I'd eat thee.

A multitude of words doth rather obscure than illustrate, they being a burden to the memory, and the first apt to be forgotten, before we come to the last. So that he that uses many words for the explaining of any subject, doth, like the cuttle-fish, hide himself, for the most part, in his own ink.

When friends meet, hearts warm.

He who pays the piper can call the tunes.