Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast.
Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness.
Would I were in an alehouse in London.
There's many a man hath more hair than wit.
Be still prepared for death: and death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.
If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not