The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream And greedily devour the treacherous bait.
All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself
The present eye praises the present object.
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
Women are as roses, whose fair flower, being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.