...an Old Man Is Twice A Child.

My Pride Fell With My Fortunes.

I Would Not Lose So Great An Honor As One Man More Methinks Would Share With Me For The Best Hope I Have.

Beggar That I Am, I Am Even Poor In Thanks, But I Thank You; And Sure, Dear Friends, My Thanks Are Too Dear A Halfpenny.

There's Small Choice In Rotten Apples.

Love's Heralds Should Be Thoughts, Which Ten Times Faster Glide Than The Sun's Beams Driving Back Shadows Over Low'ring Hills. Therefore Do Nimble-pinioned Doves Draw Love, And Therefore Hath The Wind-swift Cupid Wings.