Thus play I in one person many people, And none contented: sometimes am I king; Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, And so I am: then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king; Then am I king'd again: and by and by Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be, Nor I nor any man that but man is With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased With being nothing.

My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent.

They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them

A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dew falls everywhere.

I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap

Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.

Oh! that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves.