The appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony.
When beggars die, there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.
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.
And she's fair I love.
O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!
We have seen better days.