Tired with all these, for restful death I cry.

I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die.

For what I will, I will, and there an end.

Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.

For you and I are past our dancing days.

World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee/ Life would not yield to age.

Lovers can do their amorous rites by their own beauties