O! give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune’s book.
Two may keep counsel, putting one away?
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say it lightens.
I will kiss thy lips; Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them.
When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.
What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel?
These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume.
There is thy gold, worse poison to men’s souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.
If Love be blind — It best agrees with Night.
Women may fall, when there’s no strength in men.
Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.