On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.
If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.
Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.
For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
My crown is in my heart, not on my head.
A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?