If love be blind, it best agrees with night
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor.
where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true.
Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent.