Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feelings as to sight?
My stars shine darkly over me
You must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
The appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony.
Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sunburnt; I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a husband!
Virtue's office never breaks men's troth.