There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.
My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming; I love not less, though less the show appear: That love is merchandised whose rich esteeming The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
Beware the ides of March.
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
Such antics do not amount to a man.
Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.