The song-birds leave us at the summer's close, Only the empty nests are left behind, And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.

Here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails, but he has not so much brain as ear-wax; and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, the primitive statue and oblique memorial of cockolds; a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain, hanging at his brother's leg, to what form but that he is should wit larded with malice and malice forced with wit turn him to? To an ass, were nothing; he is both ass and ox: to an ox, were nothing; he is both ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without roe, I would not care; but to be Memelaus! I would conspire against destiny.

In jalousie I rede eek thou hym bynde And thou shalt make him couche as doeth a quaille.

Whoever benefits his enemy with straightforward intention that man's enemies will soon fold their hands in devotion.

I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets.

The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.