Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?

I humbly do beseech of your pardon, For too much loving you

O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature's soft nurse.

But men are men; the best sometimes forget.

There's nothing in this world can make me joy: Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.

My love is deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite.

My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.