How my achievements mock me!
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight, Past reason hunted, and no sooner had Past reason hated
Is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
Music, moody food Of us that trade in love.
thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.
I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.