A Dream Itself Is But A Shadow.

Be Cheerful; Wipe Thine Eyes: Some Falls Are Means The Happier To Arise

She Never Told Her Love, But Let Concealment, Like A Worm 'i Th' Bud, Feed On Her Damask Cheek. She Pinned In Thought; And, With A Green And Yellow Melancholy, She Sat Like Patience On A Monument, Smiling At Grief. Was Not This Love Indeed? We Men May Say More, Swear More; But Indeed Our Shows Are More Than Will; For We Still Prove Much In Our Vows But Little In Our Love.

Good Company, Good Wine, Good Welcome, Can Make Good People.

Did He So Often Lodge In Open Field, In Winter's Cold And Summer's Parching Heat, To Conquer France, His True Inheritance?

Sit By My Side, And Let The World Slip: We Shall Ne'er Be Younger.