I bear a charmed life.

If thou art rich, thou art poor; for, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, and death unloads thee.

Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow

But I am constant as the Northern Star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.

Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.

You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.

I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none