If you be King, why should not I succeed?
The blood of youth burns not with such excess as gravity's revolt to wantonness.
Be still prepared for death: and death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.
But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness.
You cannot call it love, for at your age the heyday in the blood is tame
Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.