What a terrible era in which idiots govern the blind.

Ay me! sad hours seem long.

Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot.

An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?

Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, To guard a title that was rich before, To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies!