'Tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems.

God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.

Past all shame, so past all truth.

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, Nor that full star that ushers in the even, Doth half that glory to the sober west, As those two mourning eyes become thy face: O! let it then as well beseem thy heart To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace, And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black, And all they foul that thy complexion lack

Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?

Every thing that grows / Holds in perfection but a little moment.

Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death.