I prithee send me back my heart, Since I cannot have thine; For if from yours you will not part, Why, then, shouldst thou have mine?
But as when an authentic watch is shown, Each man winds up and rectifies his own, So in our very judgments.
Tis love in love that makes the sport.
Beauties that from worth arise are like the grace of deities.
A quiet mediocrity is still to be preferred before a troubled superfluity.
'Tis expectation makes a blessing dear.