And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.
Angels and ministers of grace defend us.
Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
Use almost can change the stamp of nature.
Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the office and affairs of love. Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues. Let every eye negotiate for itself, And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.