O sir, you are old; nature in you stands on the very verge of her confine; you should be ruled and led by some discretion, that discerns your fate better than you yourself.

How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

Wine loved I deeply, dice dearly.

...lest too light winning make the prize light.

I was adored once too.

I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo to in festival terms.

I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.