Let never day nor night unhallowed pass, but still remember what the Lord hath done.
I am ill at these numbers.
No visor does become black villainy so well as soft and tender flattery.
For death remembered should be like a mirror, Who tells us life’s but breath, to trust it error.
I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.
My father compounded with my mother under the Dragon's tail, and my nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows, I am roughand lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.