If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.

When the age is in, the wit is out

Trust not my reading, nor my observations, Which with experimental seal do warrant The tenor of my book.

My dear, dear Lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation; that away Men are but gilded loan or painted clay... Mine honor is my life; both grow in one; Take honor from me, and my life is done.

It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood.

All surfeit is the father of much fast.

Best men oft are moulded out of faults.