Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.
Things are evermore sincere; / Candor here, and lustre there / Delighting.
Fain would I kiss my Julia's dainty leg, Which is as white and hairless as an egg.
Tears are the noble language of eyes, and when true love of words is destitute. The eye by tears speak, while the tongue is mute.
The first act's doubtful, but we say, it is the last commends the play.
When a daffadill I see, Hanging down his head towards me, Guess I may, what I must be: First, I shall decline my head; Secondly, I shall be dead: Lastly, safely buryed.