When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover.
Such as we are made of, such we be.
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.
Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
Tempt not a desperate man
O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!