Is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!

The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream And greedily devour the treacherous bait.

Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.

My pride fell with my fortunes.

The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; For now hath time made me his numbering clock: My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous goans, which strike upon my heart, Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans Show minutes, times, and hours.

Swift as shadow, short as any dream