On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.
Sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue.
But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.
And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd
Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority.
The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.