They say miracles are past.
All the learned and authentic fellows.
A young man married is a man that's marr'd.
Make the coming hour o'erflow with joy,
And pleasure drown the brim.
No legacy is so rich as honesty.
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.
Whose words all ears took captive.
Praising what is lost
Makes the remembrance dear.
The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time.
All impediments in fancy's course
Are motives of more fancy.
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.
If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour!
I am sure care's an enemy to life.
At my fingers' ends.
Wherefore are these things hid?
Is it a world to hide virtues in?
One draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.
We will draw the curtain and show you the picture.
'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive
If you will lead these graces to the grave
And leave the world no copy.
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out.
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.
He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.
Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?
Sir To. Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?
Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too.