Twas never merry world Since lowly feigning was called compliment.

O the world is but a word; were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!

How low am I, thou painted maypole?

What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*

Good with out evil is like light with out darkness which in turn is like righteousness whith out hope.

He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.

O, but they say, the tongues of dying men enforce attention, like deep harmony: where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain: for they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. he, that no more must say, is listened more than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze; more are men's ends marked, than their lives before: the setting sun, and music at the close, as the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; writ in rememberance more than things long past