There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings.
She moves me not, or not removes at least affection's edge in me.
Violent fires soon burn out themselves, small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; he tires betimes that spurs too fast.
To be furious, is to be frighted out of fear.
Hereditary sloth instructs me.
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.