Reader look, not on his picture but his book.

Hang sorrow, care'll kill a cat.

Soul of the age! The applause! delight! The wonder of our stage!

Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine.

The world knows only two, that's Rome and I.

Language most shows a man, speak that I may see thee.

Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love, Time will not be ours for ever, He, at length, our good will sever; Spend not then his gifts in vain: Suns that set may rise again; But if once we lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night. Why should we defer our joys? Fame and rumour are but toys.