If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well. It were done quickly.

Tis mad idolatry To make the service greater than the god.

How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on.

O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?

Foul whisperings are abroad

Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.