But love's a malady without a cure.

Go miser go, for money sell your soul. Trade wares for wares and trudge from pole to pole, So others may say when you are dead and gone. See what a vast estate he left his son.

Beware the fury of a patient man.

Dancing is the poetry of the foot.

For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.