Farewell, my sister, fare thee well. The elements be kind to thee, and make Thy spirits all of comfort: fare thee well.

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

O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't!

Farewell, fair cruelty.

Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.

Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing; To his music, plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.

A right judgment draws us a profit from all things we see .