You Speak An Infinite Deal Of Nothing.

False Face Must Hide What The False Heart Doth Know.

Love's Not Time's Fool, Though Rosy Lips And Cheeks Within His Bending Sickle's Compass Come.

No Man's Pie Is Freed From His Ambitious Finger.

Shorten My Days Thou Canst With Sullen Sorrow, And Pluck Nights From Me, But Not Lend A Morrow; Thou Canst Help Time To Furrow Me With Age, But Stop No Wrinkle In His Pilgrimage.

Women Are As Roses, Whose Fair Flower, Being Once Displayed, Doth Fall That Very Hour.