He is winding the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.

And how his audit stands who knows, save Heaven?

He took the bride about the neck and kissed her lips with such a clamorous smack that at the parting all the church did echo.

True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.

So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die.

How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping?