Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

For they are yet ear-kissing arguments.

Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender's books, and defy the foul fiend.

Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.

That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.

The gloomy shade of death.

The present eye praises the present object.