love is blind and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit
There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee.
Some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time.
Thus weary of the world, away she hies, And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid Their mistress mounted through the empty skies In her light chariot quickly is convey'd; Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen Means to immure herself and not be seen.
To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue.
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away.' Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces; Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces