Sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

The iron tongue of Midnight hath told twelve lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outstep the coming morn as much as we this night over-watch'd.

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.

If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.

Death rock me asleep.

What my tongue dares not that my heart shall say

Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me?