In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?

He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.

This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.

For what I will, I will, and there an end.

I do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing.

They have a plentiful lack of wit.

Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?