The Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.
I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it; knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving.
The Eyes are the window to your soul
Let the end try the man.
I see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man.