Come my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession.
The wounds invisible that Love's keen arrows make.
There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune.
For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.
Good wombs have borne bad sons." -- (Miranda, I:2)
The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be changed: Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed, When cowardice pursues and valour flies.