But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.
Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights; Four nights will quickly dream away the time; And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities.
For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.
Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is?
A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story
O, Thou hast damnable iteration; and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint.