Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.

Would I were in an alehouse in London.

In sweet music is such art: killing care and grief of heart fall asleep, or hearing, die.

It is not night when I do see your face.

And then he drew a dial from his poke, And looking with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see', Quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot.

She marking them begins a wailing note And sings extemporally a woeful ditty How love makes young men thrall and old men dote How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, And still the choir of echoes answer so.

When you fear a foe, fear crushes your strength; and this weakness gives strength to your opponents.