Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it.
O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple Hell?
I do desire we may be better strangers.
Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by
Set your heart at rest. The fairyland buys not the child of me.