For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

I'll say she looks as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew.

To weep is to make less the depth of grief.

Quote: What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?

Hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig.

Each present joy or sorrow seems the chief.

Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.