Twixt kings and tyrants there's this difference known; Kings seek their subjects' good: tyrants their own.
I do love I know not what; Sometimes this, and sometimes that.
What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
Like will to like, each creature loves his kind.
In vain our labours are, whatsoe'er they be, unless God gives the Benediction.
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a flying: And this same flower that smiles to day, Tomorrow will be dying.