Help, master, help! here's a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man's right in the law; 'twill hardly come out.

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts.

Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.

When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo; O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear.

A fusty nut with no kernel.

Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone.