If we must part forever, Give me but one kind word to think upon, And please myself with, while my heart's breaking.

Shall I bid her goe? what and if I doe? Shall I bid her goe and spare not? Oh no, no, no, I dare not.

Till then, good-night! You wish the time were now? And I. You do not blush to wish it so? You would have blush'd yourself to death To own so much a year ago. What! both these snowy hands? ah, then I'll have to say, Good-night again.

Good night! I have to say good night, To such a host of peerless things!

Honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten.

Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labor to overcome the cloud that loads em.