’Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
Pericles, i. 2.
A city on whom plenty held full hand,
Whose towers bore heads so high, they kissed the clouds.
Pericles, i. 4.
Gloster. Oh, let me kiss that hand!
Lear. Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.
King Lear, iv. 6.