These times of woe afford no time to woo.
O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
The chameleon Love can feed on the air
For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.