O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven

Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.

And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.

My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate.

To go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poisoned flattery?

He hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks.