A fusty nut with no kernel.

Where souls do couch on flowers we'll hand in hand.

Miracles are ceased; and therefore we must needs admit the means, how things are perfected.

Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.

If I shall be condemned Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 'Tis rigor and not law.

As in a theatre, the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him that enters next.

Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.