O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 'Tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies not plenty; Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.

And, if you love me, as I think you do, let's kiss and part, for we have much to do

You Jig, you amble, and you lisp.

For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.

Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.

I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come" (Phebe)

Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove.