A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience!

You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both.

To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars.

O, Thou hast damnable iteration; and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint.

My soul is in the sky.

But 'tis common proof, that lowliness is young ambition's ladder, whereto the climber-upward turns his face; but when he once attains the upmost round, he then turns his back, looks in the clouds, scorning the vase defrees by which he did ascend.

I cannot speak your england.