The will of man is by his reason sway'd.

Love is blind, it stops lovers seeing the silly things they do.

How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.

All offences come from the heart.

What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Twas a clever quibble. Here, a garment for it.

False face must hide what the false heart doth know.