Travelers must be content.
That's a valiant flea that dares eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.
Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep.
Oh, injurious love, that respites me a life, whose very comfort is still a dying horror
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever,- One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never.
We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.