You, and your lady, Take from my heart all thankfulness!
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.
By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death and let it go which way it will he that dies this year is quit for the next
But like of each thing that in season grows.
And she's fair I love.