The prize of all too precious you.

So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies.

thou art the best o' the cut-throats

Awake, dear heart, awake. Thou hast slept well. Awake.

Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere.

Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none!.

Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.