All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!
He hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks.
Great griefs medicine the less.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .
Be wary then; best safety lies in fear.
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I lov'd her that she did pity them