So now I have confessed that he is thine, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine, Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still.

Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.

I would give all of my fame for a pot of ale and safety.

That affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence.

If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.

The soul of this man is his clothes.

Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short; youth is nimble, age is lame; Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and age is tame.