When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.

Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, And where we are our learning likewise is.

Is this the generation of love? Hot blood, hot thoughts and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers?

Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must.

Wisely, I say, I am a bachelor.

They have a plentiful lack of wit.

Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger