All is but toys: renown, and grace, is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of

Good wine needs no bush

Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, But sound the trumpets, and about our task

I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine.

He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

Full many a lady I have eyed with best regard, and many a time Th' harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear; for several virtues Have I liked several women; never any With so full soul but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed, And put it to the foil.