“He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.”

“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember; and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts...There’s fennel for you, and columbines; there’s rue for you, and here’s some for me; we may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference. There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they wither’d all when my father died. They say he made a good end,— [Sings.]“For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.Thought and afflictions, passion, hell itself, She turns to favor and to prettiness. Song. And will a not come again? And will a not come again? No, no, he is dead; Go to thy deathbed; He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow, Flaxen was his poll. He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan. God ’a’ mercy on his soul.”

“And will 'a not come again? And will 'a not come again? No, no, he is dead, Go to thy death bed: He will never come again.”

“I dreamt my lady came and found me dead. . . . . . . . . . . .And breathed such life with kisses in my lipsThat I revived and was an emperor.”

“If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne;And all this day an unaccustom'd spiritLifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.I dreamt my lady came and found me dead—Strange dream, that gives a dead man leaveto think!—And breathed such life with kisses in my lips,That I revived, and was an emperor.Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!”

“All of Creation’s a farce.Man was born as a joke.In his head his reason is buffetedLike wind-blown smoke.Life is a game.Everyone ridicules everyone else.But he who has the last laughLaughs longest.”

“O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mockThe meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss,Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger:But O, what damnèd minutes tells he o'erWho dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!”