Who riseth from a feast With that keen appetite that he sits down?

The course of true love never did run smooth.

All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.

Ay, but to die and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstrution and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendant world.

The man that hath no music in himself

Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well.