In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. -Sonnet 73

Cursed be he that moves my bones.

Wolves and bears, they say, casting their savagery aside, have done like offices of pity.

Every fair from fair sometime declines

Tax not so bad a voice to slander music any more than once.

So fair and foul a day i had not seen.

No visor does become black villainy so well as soft and tender flattery.