Be like you thought our love would last too long, if it were chain'd together
Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff.
Can one desire too much of a good thing?
There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.
Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.