Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
Make use of time, let not advantage slip.
Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will!
The Eyes are the window to your soul
Never, never, never, never, never! Pray you, undo this button.
My dear, dear Lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation; that away Men are but gilded loan or painted clay... Mine honor is my life; both grow in one; Take honor from me, and my life is done.