Let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them.
Make the upcoming hour overflow with joy, and let pleasure drown the brim.
Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.
How poor are they that have have not patients.
Night's candles have burned out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops." Hope tinged with melancholy - like life.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever,- One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never.