He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.

One fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.

We must be gentle now we are gentlemen.

thus with a kiss I die

Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance?

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,-- Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.

Fairies use flowers for their charactery.