Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious To have mistrusted her.

Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.

Death makes no conquest of this conqueror: For now he lives in fame, though not in life.

The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.

'Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.

He took the bride about the neck and kissed her lips with such a clamorous smack that at the parting all the church did echo.

Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.