Lets meet and either do or die. — John Fletcher

"Twas when young Eustace wore his heart ins breeches."

"O great corrector of enormous times, Shaker of oer-rank states, thou grand decider Of dusty and old titles, that healest with blood The earth when it is sick, and curest the world O the pleurisy of people."

"Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan, Sorrow calls no time thats gone; Violets plucked, the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again."

"Hence, all you vain delights, As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly! Theres naught in this life sweet But only melancholy; O sweetest melancholy!"

"Man is his own star, and the soul that can Render an honest and a perfect man, Commands all light, all influence, all fate; Nothing to him falls early, or too late. Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, Our fatal shadows that walk by us still; And when the stars are labouring, we believe It is not that they govern, but they grieve For stubborn ignorance; all things that are Made for our general uses, are at war, — Even we among ourselves; and from the strife, Your first unlike opinions got a life."

"Ill put that in my considering cap."