No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison: We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage: When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down, And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too, Who loses and who wins; who's in, who's out; And take upon's the mystery of things, As if we were God's spies: and we'll wear out, In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, That ebb and flow by the moon.

There's small choice in rotten apples.

On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily.

Wisely, I say, I am a bachelor.

Time's the king of men; he's both their parent, and he is their grave, and gives them what he will, not what they crave.

I am wealthy in my friends.

My love is as a fever, longing still.