Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.

A very ancient and fish-like smell.

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.

A little more than kin, and less than kind.

Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.

Never durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs.

That is not the best sermon which makes the hearers go away talking to one another and praising the speaker, but which makes them go away thoughtful and serious, and hastening to be alone.