Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of Our human generation you shall find.
Tis a cruelty to load a fallen man.
If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
A sad tale's best for winter. I have one of sprites and goblins.
Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd, Shall never find it more.
What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds.