Every man has business and desire, Such as it is.
Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.
Now I am past all comforts here, but prayer.
The devil is a gentleman.
Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.
Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat.