For you and I are past our dancing days

“Heat not a furnace for your foe so hotThat it do singe yourself.”

“Beauty itself doth of itself persuadeThe eyes of men without orator.”

“Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:It was the nightingale, and not the l…”

“Now is the winter of our discontentMade glorious summer by this sun of York;And…”