So sweet a breath that doth perfume the air.
Marston: Pygmalion’s Image.
Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just;
And he but naked, though locked up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.—2 Henry VI. III. 2.
I’m armed with more than complete steel—
The justice of my quarrel.—Marlowe: Lust’s Dominion.
All that glisters is not gold.—Merchant of Venice, II.