Be to yourself as you would to your friend.
And, if you love me, as I think you do, let's kiss and part, for we have much to do
Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
Who is here so vile that will not love his country?
The old folk, time's doting chronicles.
I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness, And from that full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting.