Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age have left me naked to mine enemies.

Never; he will not: Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety: other women cloy The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies.

Oh God! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea.

Who can be patient in extremes?

Give it an understanding, but no tongue.

O England! Model to thy inward greatness, like little body with a might heart.

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph.