To die, is to be banish'd from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her, Is self from self: a deadly banishment! What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? Unless it be to think that she is by, And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, There is no day for me to look upon; She is my essence, and I leave to be, If I be not by her fair influence Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.

O! that a man might know The end of this day's business, ere it come; But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known.

If the masses can love without knowing why, they also hate without much foundation.

In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame.

There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.

These cardinals trifle with me; I abhor; This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.

What I have done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours.