My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
Yield not thy neck To fortunes yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
thus with a kiss I die