Scorn, At First, Makes After-love The More.

I'll Follow Thee And Make A Heaven Of Hell, To Die Upon The Hand I Love So Well

All That Glitters Is Not Gold.

Like The Lily That Once Was Mistress Of The Field And Flourished, I'll Hang My Head And Perish.

Lend Less Than You Owe.

Some Innocents 'scape Not The Thunderbolt.