We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
Ingrateful man with liquorish draughts, and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind that from it all consideration slips.
Summer's lease hath all too short a date.
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am armed so strong in honesty That they pass by me as the idle wind
To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy.
Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again.