We must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief
But I am constant as the Northern Star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.
Music, moody food Of us that trade in love.
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
The present eye praises the present object.