All that glitters is not gold.

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.

Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.

Falsehood falsehood cures

I see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man.

Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; I love her ten times more than e'er I did: O, how I long to have some chat with her!

They told me I was everything. 'Tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.