Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, and with him rise weeping.
She's gone. I am abused, and my relief must be to loathe her.
O, full of scorpions is my mind!
love is blind and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit
Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition
Rich honesty dwells like a miser, Sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.