He that dies this year is quit for the next.
How use doth breed a habit in a man.
I must to the barber's, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face.
Two women placed together makes cold weather.
I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?
Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.