He that dies pays all debts.
Upon thy cheek I lay this zealous kiss, as seal to the indenture of my love.
I have full cause of weeping, but this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws or ere I'll weep.
The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good.
Rumour is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures And of so easy and so plain a stop That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it.
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.