Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses.
The cunning livery of hell.
A gentleman that loves to hear himself talk, will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.
Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye.
Good reasons must of force give place to better.
For where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?