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.

For where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?

Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber.

I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged.

Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.

The eye sees all, but the mind shows us what we want to see.

To pore upon a book, to seek the light of truth.