I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes—and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.
Thou frothy tickle-brained hedge-pig!
You abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite. No motion of the liver, but the palate
So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend: thy love ne'er alter, till they sweet life end
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, And say there is no sin but to be rich; And being rich, my virtue then shall be To say there is no vice but beggary