Death-counterfeiting sleep.

And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.

Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltiness of time.

That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.

There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.

My stars shine darkly over me