Get thee glass eyes, and like a scurvy politician, seem to see the things thou dost not.

Be great in act, as you have been in thought.

Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes For every word.

Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me

All love's pleasure shall not match its woe.

Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn.

When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be preserved when fortune takes, Patience her injury a mockery makes. The robb'd that smiles steals something for the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.