I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger I recover them.
As I stood here below, methought his eyes Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses, Horns whelked and waved like the enridgèd sea. It was some fiend.
This day is called the Feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day and comes safe home Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is nam'd And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours And say, "Tomorrow is Saint Crispian."
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires. But if it be a sin to covet honor I am the most offending soul alive.
You are no surer, no, Than is the coal of fire upon the ice, Or hailstone in the sun.
Let us sit and mock the good huswife Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts.
I will not hold thee long. If I do live, I will be good to thee.
Sir, you and I must part, but that's not it; Sir, you and I have loved, but there's not it;
Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love, And sing them loud even in the dead of night; Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out "Olivia!" O, you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth But you should pity me.