This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
Tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age, Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburdened crawl toward death.
Love hath made thee a tame snake
We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.
Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no man's pleasure.
I would fain die a dry death.