The weakest goes to the wall.
O, reason not the need!
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily... is wasteful and ridiculous excess
My love admits no qualifying dross
Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, and with him rise weeping.