Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.

And keep you in the rear of your affection, Out of the shot and danger of desire, The chariest maid is prodigal enough If she unmasks her beauty to the moon.

He knows what it's like to strut and fret his hour upon the stage and then be heard no more.

I will not be sworn but love may transform me to an oyster

She cannot love, nor take no shape nor project or affection, she is so self-endeared

I hope to see London once ere I die.

When Death doth close his tender dying eyes.