I know my soul hath power to know all things, Yet is she blind and ignorant in all: I know I'm one of Nature's little kings, Yet to the least and vilest things am thrall.
Hence it is that old men do plant young trees, the fruit whereof another age shall take.
Dancing is a frenzyand a rage.
What more than madness reigns, when one short sitting many hundreds drains.
Thou art true and honest as a dog.
For what made that in glory shine so long But poets' Pens, pluckt from Archangels' wings?