O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, leave not the mansion so long tenantless; lest, growing ruinous, the building fall and leave no memory of what it was!

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.

Beshrew the heart that makes my heart to groan.

Upon his royal face there is no note how dread an army hath enrounded him.

When Death doth close his tender dying eyes.

For honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar.