'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support them after.

But I am constant as the Northern Star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.

And where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury.

It is thyself, mine own self's better part; Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart; My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.

Rude am I in my speech, And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace.

With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.

The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.