Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It were a grief so brief to part with thee. Farewell.
If fortune torments me, hope contents me.
Despair and die. The ghosts
With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.