I Am Afeard There Are Few Die

My Dear, Dear Lord, The Purest Treasure Mortal Times Afford Is Spotless Reputation; That Away Men Are But Gilded Loan Or Painted Clay... Mine Honor Is My Life; Both Grow In One; Take Honor From Me, And My Life Is Done.

The Best Quarrels, In The Heat, Are Cursed By Those That Feel Their Sharpness.

Who Wooed In Haste, And Means To Wed At Leisure.

Lawn As White As Driven Snow; Cyprus Black As E'er Was Crow; Gloves As Sweet As Damask Roses.

Men's Evil Manners Live In Brass; Their Virtues We Write In Water.