All that glisters is not gold; Often have you heard that told.
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, where manners ne'er were preached.
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.
By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be mekancholy.
I pray you bear me henceforth from the noise and rumour of the field, where I may think the remnant of my thoughts in peace, and part of this body and my soul with contemplation and devout desires.
And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.