Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.
Nor age so eat up my invention.
O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating.
This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it.
Things are often spoke and seldom meant.
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where.