The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.
For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?
His neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. He is indeed a horse.
My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!
And blind oblivion swallowed cities up.
I know a place where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows.