Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.

Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger, Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.

One good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages.

Every cloud engenders not a storm.

I have full cause of weeping, but this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws or ere I'll weep.

Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.

Love adds a precious seeing to the eye.