What need the bridge much broader than the flood?

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come. And let my liver rather heat with wine, than my heart cool with mortifying groans.

Though I am not naturally honest, I am sometimes so by chance.

Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.

A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?

Yield not thy neck To fortunes yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance.

Give obedience where 'tis truly owed.