I have almost forgotten the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool’d to hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir as life were in’t: I have supt full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, cannot once start me.

Too nice, and yet too true!

Slander, whose whisper over the world's diameter, as level as the cannon to its blank, transports its poisoned shot.

We will have rings and things and fine array

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.

Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by

This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it.