In delay there lies no plenty.

Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.

Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you

Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.