He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat.
I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.
By-and-by is easily said.
Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.
What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?