Trust not my reading, nor my observations, Which with experimental seal do warrant The tenor of my book.
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard.
...an old man is twice a child.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
Sycorax has grown into a hoop
Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.