Hang him, swaggering rascal!
It is the stars, The stars above us, govern our conditions.
The weakest kind of fruit drops earliest to the ground.
They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.
A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!
In springtime, the only pretty ring time Birds sing, hey ding A-ding, a-ding Sweet lovers love the spring—