What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poisoned flattery?

There's villainous news abroad.

We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels.

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.

We have some salt of our youth in us.

Not stepping over the bounds of modesty.

For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; At whose approach ghosts wandring here and there Troop home to church-yards.... For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They willfully exile themselves from light, And must for aye consort with black brow'd night.