The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.
For they are yet ear-kissing arguments.
We are advertis'd by our loving friends.
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.