All his successors gone before him have done 't; and all his ancestors that come after him may.

It easeth some, though none it ever cured, to think their dolour others have endured.

I love thee, and it is my love that speaks

For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.

I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo to in festival terms.

A fusty nut with no kernel.

Few love to hear the sins they love to act.