To be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.
Pride went before, ambition follows him.
What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts.
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dew falls everywhere.
Old Time the clock-setter.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, to love that well which thou must leave ere long