The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.

You told a lie, an odious damned lie; Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.

Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.

Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye.

Make not your thoughts your prisons.

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie? I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth; the Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. . . . Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If.