And thence from Athens turn away our eyes To seek new friends and stranger companies.
Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head?
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words
If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.
Come, Lady, die to live.
. . . it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself it is needful that you frame the season of your own harvest.