We rise with the lark and go to bed with the lamb.
In all honesty, I should have given up this acting lark years ago.
There was a jolly miller once, / Lived on the river Dee; / He worked and sang from morn till night; / No lark more blithe than he.
None but the lark so shrill and clear; / How at heaven's gates she claps her wings, / The morn not waking till she sings.