And so to tread As if the wind, not she, did walk; Nor prest a flower, nor bow'd a stalk.

Her treading would not bend a blade of grass, Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk!

I have betrayed myself with my own tongue; The case is altered

Good men are the stars, the planets of the ages wherein they live, and illustrate the times.

Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine.

Sweet meat must have sour sauce.