This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o-erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire.

I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting

More matter with less art.

Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, And we are for the Dark.

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; for grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead . . . . . . . . . . . . And breathed such life with kisses in my lips That I revived and was an emperor.

Why, I can smile and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face for all occasions