A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear.
The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings.
My only love sprung from my only hate.
Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me And tune his merry note, Unto the sweet bird's throat; Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.