Who wooed in haste, and means to wed at leisure.

In sweet music is such art: killing care and grief of heart fall asleep, or hearing, die.

They were devils incarnate.

There is no vice so simple but assumes some mark of virtue on his outward parts.

Death-counterfeiting sleep.

Those that much covet are with gain so fond, For what they have not, that which they possess They scatter and unloose it from their bond, And so, by hoping more, they have but less; Or, gaining more, the profit of excess Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.

Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.