He that filches from me my good name robs me of that which enriches him and makes me poor indeed.

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

The eye sees all, but the mind shows us what we want to see.

Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?

I dote on his very absence.

Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must.

Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad.