My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.

By Heaven, I love thee better than myself

Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?

Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay; My major vow lies here, this I'll obey.

But shall we wear these glories for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, The manner of my pity-wanting pain.

I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff, sixpenny strikers, none of these mad, mustachio purple-hued maltworms, but with nobility and tranquillity.