Sweet love! Sweet lines! Sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart; Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn
A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear.
Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.
On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.
You speak an infinite deal of nothing.
His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.