A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder.

Corruption wins not more than honesty.

A very scurvy fellow.

O time, thou must untangle this, not I. It is too hard a knot for me t'untie.

If there were reason for these miseries, then into limits could I bind my woes. If the winds rages, doth not the sea wax mad, threat'ning the welkin with its big-swoll'n face? And wilt though have a reason for this coil? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth blow. She is the weeping welkin, I the earth.

She moves me not, or not removes at least affection's edge in me.

Downy sleep, death's counterfeit.