With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come. And let my liver rather heat with wine, than my heart cool with mortifying groans.

But here's the joy: my friend and I are one, Sweet flattery!

He that wants money, means, and content is without three good friends.

Though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve.

I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good Friends

Oh, I am fortune's fool!

Kent. Where's the king? Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, That things might change or cease; tears his white hair, Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, Catch in their fury and make nothing of; Strives in his little world of man to outscorn The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, The lion and the belly-pinched wolf Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, And bids what will take all.