The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea.
Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil.
How much more doth beauty beauteous seem by that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
Be like you thought our love would last too long, if it were chain'd together
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.