Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.
You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.
The moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven.
Travelers never did lie, though fools at home condemn them.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?
Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod.