Then to Silvia let us sing that Silvia is excelling. She excels each mortal thing upon the dull earth dwelling.

Can we outrun the heavens?

For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.

I wonder that you will still be talking. Nobody marks you.

'Tis better to bear the ills we have than fly to others that we know not of.

Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear.

Music, moody food Of us that trade in love.