A little more than kin, and less than kind.
He that wants money, means, and content is without three good friends.
But when I came, alas, to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day.
Oh! that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves.
Nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will.
We cannot fight for love, as men may do; we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo