I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursued my humor not pursuing his, And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.

Fortune reigns in gifts of the world.

Every cloud engenders not a storm.

My wits begin to turn.

Every fair from fair sometime declines

Men's vows are women's traitors

Sweets grown common lose their dear delight.