Let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
Thou frothy tickle-brained hedge-pig!
Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. O these deliberate fools!
And be these juggling friends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.
Some are born great, others achieve greatness.