You stars that reigned at my nativity, whose influence hath allotted death and hell.
Ah fair Zenocrate, divine Zenocrate, Fair is too foul an epithet for thee.
All places are alike, and every earth is fit for burial.
That perfect bliss and sole felicity, the sweet fruition of an earthly crown.
Fornication: but that was in another country; And besides, the wench is dead.
Make me immortal with a kiss.