They that stand high have many blasts to shake them.

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?

we are the lords of all eternity

He is white-livered and red-faced.

He is not worthy of the honey-comb, that shuns the hives because the bees have stings.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade.

We will draw the curtain and show you the picture.