Receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day.

Desperate times breed desperate measures

A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience!

But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.

But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven

This rough magic I here abjure and when I have required some heavenly music, which even now I do, to work mine end upon their senses that this airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book.