The insolence of office.

Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and inclination of the day.

I love you more than word can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty

O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!

Stars hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires: The eyes wink at the hand; yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see

Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes For every word.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet Grace must still look so.