Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises.
At Christmas, I no more desire a rose.
Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.
Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.