Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion.

O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, that he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell

O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with Time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face. But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?

Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender's books, and defy the foul fiend.

Temptation: the fiend at my elbow.

To weep is to make less the depth of grief.

To sleep perchance to dream