The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And say what thou seest yond.

There is flattery in friendship.

For as a surfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings, Or as tie heresies that men do leave Are hated most of those they did deceive, So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, Of all be hated, but the most of me!

It was always yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common.

Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.— Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love Accompany your hearts!

Nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal.

I am wealthy in my friends.