Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck, And yet methinks I have astronomy. But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell ... Or say with princes if it shall go well.

Death where is thy sting? Love, where is thy glory?

And worse I may be yet: the worst is not So long as we can say 'This is the worst.

Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.

I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.

...and then, in dreaming, / The clouds methought would open and show riches / Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked / I cried to dream again.

Love is too young to know what conscience is.