Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.

Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both!

He's a soldier; and for one to say a soldier lies, is stabbing.

Be great in act, as you have been in thought.

All his successors gone before him have done 't; and all his ancestors that come after him may.

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.

This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?