How much salt water thrown away in waste/ To season love, that of it doth not taste.
He is winding the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.
Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
I have a bone to pick with Fate
No stony bulwark can resist the love, and love dares what anyone can love.
Would I were in an alehouse in London.