While we lie tumbling in the hay.

Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead . . . . . . . . . . . . And breathed such life with kisses in my lips That I revived and was an emperor.

That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.

What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief.

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

When workmen strive to do better than well, they do confound their skill in covetousness.