The weariest and most loathed worldly life, that age, ache, penury and imprisonment can lay on nature is a paradise, to what we fear of death.

Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.

What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just.

Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.

Thou shalt be free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command.

Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honour's at the stake.

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.