Pray you now, forget and forgive.

Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall with our English dead.

Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end.

For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; At whose approach ghosts wandring here and there Troop home to church-yards.... For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They willfully exile themselves from light, And must for aye consort with black brow'd night.

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

In time we hate that which we often fear.