Tis not the many oaths that make the truth; But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true.

What should we speak of When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December? how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?

To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still.

Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice Hath often stilled my brawling discontent.

O' What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!

Past and to come, seems best; things present, worse.

Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes.