Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.
As good luck would have it.
Give thanks for what you are today and go on fighting for what you gone be tomorrow
He must needs go that the devil drives.
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
Good old grandsire ... we shall be joyful of thy company.