  O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? O stay and hear! your true-love's coming That can sing both high and low; Trip no further, pretty sweeting, Journeys end in lovers meeting— Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty,— Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. W. Shakespeare |
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