Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy.

Why, what's the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?

Never durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs.

Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered fallacy.

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you-trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and as I may say, the whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness.

Hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.