My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate.

Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

I do beseech you- Though I perchance am vicious in my guess , that your wisdom yet From one that so imperfectly conjects Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance.

They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them

There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.

A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear.