Thou frothy tickle-brained hedge-pig!
The setting sun, and the music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in rememberance more than long things past.
Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.
I am that merry wanderer of the night.
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.
Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying!