A good old man, sir. He will be talking. As they say, when the age is in, the wit is out.
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects treachery?
The fear's as bad as falling.
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By Heaven, I love thee better than myself
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.