To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head?

More of your conversation would infect my brain.

I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

And then he drew a dial from his poke, And looking with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see', Quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot.

Making night hideous.