The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown, is often left unloved.
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
The art of our necessities is strange That can make vile things precious.
We are advertis'd by our loving friends.
Let's meet as little as we can
A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?