Golden lads and girls all must as chimney sweepers come to dust.
The earth, that is nature's mother, is her tomb.
An old black ram is tupping your white ewe
My love is thaw'd; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, bears no impression of the thing it was
Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying!
Where is your ancient courage? You were used to say extremities was the trier of spirits; That common chances common men could bear; That when the sea was calm all boats alike showed mastership in floating.