Ay, rail at gaming - 'tis a rich topic, and affords noble declamation. Go, preach against it in the city - you'll find a congregation in every tavern.
I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.
'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.
I think when you're blessed with great influences, you need to spread it.
Time, still as he flies, adds increase to her truth, and gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.