God keep your worship! I wish your worship well; God restore you to health! I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit it!
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done, Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud, Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. All men make faults, and even I in this, Authorizing thy trespass with compare, My self corrupting salving thy amiss, Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are:
That strain again, it had a dying fall; O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odor. Enough, no more, 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
A young man married is a man that's marred.
If circumstances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the centre.
Memory, the warder of the brain.
What should we speak of When we are old as you? When we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December, how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?
The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Those that understood him smiled at one another and shook their heads; but for mine own part, it was Greek to me.