Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.

How now, wit! Whither wander you?

Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.

Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agreed.

In thy face I see the map of honour, truth and loyalty.

A good old man, sir. He will be talking. As they say, when the age is in, the wit is out.

To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy looks, with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth