Falsehood falsehood cures
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
A little fire is quickly trodden out, Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.
Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.