Commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways.

Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.

By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be mekancholy.

But I am constant as the Northern Star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.

Nothing in his life became him like leaving it.

I hold my peace, sir? no; No, I will speak as liberal as the north; Let heaven and men and devils, let them all, All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain