And she's fair I love.
Our jovial star reigned at his birth.
Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; but, God He knows, thy share thereof is small.
Friendship is full of dregs.
Beauty's a doubtful good, a glass, a flower, Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour; And beauty, blemish'd once, for ever's lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.
If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul.