[thine] Face Is Not Worth Sunburning.

Opinion's But A Fool, That Makes Us Scan The Outward Habit By The Inward Man.

Faith, Stay Here This Night; They Will Surely Do Us No Harm; You Saw They Speak Us Fair, Give Us Gold; Methinks They Are Such A Gentle Nation That, But For The Mountain Of Mad Flesh That Claims Marriage Of Me, Could Find In My Heart To Stay Here Still And Turn Witch.

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presagers Of My Speaking Breast, Who Plead For Love, And Look For Recompense, More Than That Tongue That More Hath More Expressed.

Not All The Water In The Rough Rude Sea Can Wash The Balm From An Anointed King.

No Man Means Evil But The Devil, And We Shall Know Him By His Horns.