I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.

You Jig, you amble, and you lisp.

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.

By Heaven, I love thee better than myself

Parting is such sweet sorrow

Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

You cannot call it love, for at your age the heyday in the blood is tame