See where she comes apparelled like the spring.
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And asleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must be heard of, say, I taught thee.
The tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony.
You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser.