All offences come from the heart.
A cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in 't.
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
If she be not honest, chaste, and true, there's no man happy.
Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge, That no king can corrupt.
To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy looks, with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth